


Safe Ones, Vanquished Ones

by KJGooding



Series: Post-Canon Trill Revival [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Culture, F/F, F/M, Family, Gen, Hallucinations, Healing, M/M, Multi, Nonverbal Communication, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Post-War, Slow Burn, Team as Family, Trill Culture and Taboo, Trill Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-06-26 04:16:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 72,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15655593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KJGooding/pseuds/KJGooding
Summary: After the Dominion War comes to a close, Julian finds his feelings caught between Elim Garak and Ezri Dax. Both of them are piecing together their pasts, adjusting their memories to find a place within a shocking new future. Julian wants to help them both, but he is left under appreciated and stretched thin. He becomes disillusioned with the Federation, and more focused on his family.(Post-canon, Trill and Cardassian cultural revivals, with Julian Bashir caught in the middle of it all.)





	1. 8.01 - Soliloquy of a Falling Star

**Author's Note:**

> “I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesteryears are buried deep, leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest way you can. Never turn back and never believe that an hour you remember is a better hour because it is dead. Passed years seem safe ones, vanquished ones, while the future lives in a cloud, formidable from a distance.”  
> -Beryl Markham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian, Ezri, and Elim all find themselves guilty of thinking of prominent players in their pasts. Coming to terms with changes and absences is harder than any of them want to admit.

In the Replimat, Julian sat down to lunch by himself.  He drifted through nearly everything in solitude, these days.  

He felt alone when he was working, attending absently to his patients and waiting for his schedule to clear.  Then he went and sat in public places to take comfort in ambient noise and passing strangers.

Elim Garak left; everyone left.  

The time and care Julian had taken to expand his circle of friends was all undone in an instant, ripped aside like a curtain to a show he had no desire to see.  It lacked Captain Sisko’s guidance, Miles’s warmth, Jadzia’s intuition, Elim’s companionship…

But if he was honest with himself, he and Elim had not been _companions_ of any meaningful sort for several years.  Elim was impossible for him to read - that must have been it - so there was no hope of their relationship progressing past some predetermined point.

Julian scowled to himself.  Progressing to _what_ , exactly?  

When he wanted guidance, he settled for Colonel Kira’s, and when he wanted warmth or intuition or _companionship_ , he sought out Ezri’s.

He found himself recalling the night they had spent together, over a week ago.  Was he really so naive and excitable? Had his reputation become his reality, after all these years?

There were two possible answers, Julian thought to himself: yes, or no.  He was still thinking about it, of course, because it had been _fun_.  That was the plain and simple answer, he thought, looking at the seat across from him, which Elim would likely never occupy again.  

Well, it was no use thinking of both of them at once.  Elim had made the infallible move to return home, and Julian did not want to compromise that with sentiment.  So he thought of _progress_ , and he thought of Ezri.

Julian had subscribed to the theories of candlelight and soothing instrumentals for years only because he had clear definitions and expectations for his relationships; it was not Ezri Dax’s fault she did not fit into any of them, and demanded her own.  So, instead, the room was dark and her body _glowed_ when he touched it, and he marvelled at her even when they were both asleep and dreaming.  The music had been loud, pounding, _exhausting_ , because Dax enjoyed the vibrations.  Ezri had giggled and said she had not been with men often, and she pointed in teasing accusation at Dax’s current location, guiding Julian to kiss it, too, before they began.

Jadzia had told him once, years ago and half-seriously, that seducing a joined Trill was equivalent to having a threesome.  This was the other possible answer, thought Julian: he was not being naive, but _hopeless_.  He was still thinking about their encounter because he was still thinking about Jadzia, and about the time he held Dax in his hands and mourned two lives at once.  It was not long ago at all, especially from the perspective of a symbiont who would live another thousand years, at least. It was a branding iron, scalding hot but only applied for a moment, and then Jadzia was another marking in a list of lifetimes.  Julian told himself he had done all he could for her, and Dax was grateful in some way Ezri was still learning to express.

A third option occurred to him, fleeting, rare, and shamefully valuable.  Oh, he would have spent a large sum to see it again after it had gone, while he struggled to process the impressions of it.  He thought, then, he was still thinking about it because he had been lonely. It was only natural. His best friends had all left him in quick succession, his longstanding intellectual partner left too, after only a few words.  It seemed he did not mean anything to Elim after all, certainly not enough to have been invited along on the trip, one Elim _knew_ he would have enjoyed and been useful on.  Perhaps he had felt drawn to Ezri because she was familiar and friendly, and he craved closeness now more than ever.

And then, with a hastily-stifled fear of Trill telepathy, Julian noticed her walking across the Promenade.  Only the symbionts had any notable telepathic ability, he reminded himself, and even then it was limited to fellow symbionts, their joined hosts, or their caretakers when they resided in rehabilitation pools.  His thoughts were perfectly safe, even if he could not stop recalling the way Dax glowed through Ezri’s skin when he straddled her, the way…

“Hey,” she said, touching the top of the chair beside him, “is this seat taken?”

“Not at all,” he replied, caught between a few possible responses he had drawn up in his head.  “It’s, uh, nice to see you. I was just--”

“--thinking about last week,” she supplied for him.  “So was I, and I… wanted to apologize." 

“ _Apologize_?” Julian said, mildly surprised; he was not used to his lunchtime companions being so straightforward.

“I know I’ve been _kind of_ all over the place, recently.”

“That’s perfectly understandable.  Would you, er, prefer we not discuss it again?”

“That’s the thing,” she said, leaning in and lowering her voice, “It was… nice, thank you, and I had a lot of fun.”

“So did I,” he smiled.

“But it felt like, maybe, both of us were thinking about Jadzia.”

“Really?  I was trying not to, honestly...”

“Yeah, me too.  I think I’ve got it worked out, almost.  The way I see it, Dax is like… a friend of mine, giving me suggestions, and they’re usually good, but they’re always sort of, through someone else’s lens, if that makes sense.”

“It does, yes.”

“And of course the strongest memories all belong to Jadzia, and that was what made it so hard for me to stay here, in the first place.”

“Until everyone left,” Julian said, shrugging to show his disappointment.

“Right.  And I’ve been going over the texts from the Symbiosis Commission, and they make it sound like Joining is the greatest possible aspiration, when really you’re giving control of your body to a parasite, if you’re not careful." 

“...I can see that,” Julian said cautiously.

“One of the historians sympathized with me, and said Dax always had a fondness for hosts who were… a little out there.  Hosts that would accept it and encourage it, even when it was doing something _wild_.”

“I can see that, too.  Would you - I’m sorry - would you like me to get you a raktajino, or something?”

She shook her her hand to decline, as her face was still fully occupied with conveying her feelings.  Her nose scrunched into an amused expression, and she pouted for a moment before continuing.

“So I want to take its input differently than its previous hosts have.  I want to listen to it like a friend, not a… worshipper, or a sparring partner.  It doesn’t seem to take that middle road, or at least it hasn’t in a few hundred years.”

“I see,” Julian said.  He was understanding the concepts, but failing to connect them to their relationship, in whatever way Ezri cared to define it.  Then he remembered something Miles had said to him years ago that always occupied his mind, and he offered it, in case it might help, “And I suppose I’m... too _extreme_?”

“No, I didn’t mean that.  I meant, if Dax has _nothing_ but compliments for you, I’m willing to listen to it, and compromise,” she put her head in her hand for a moment, “and that’s not making it sound any better, I know, but--”

“It’s alright, I think I understand.”

He had certainly been a romantic compromise before in his life, but it did not really bother him anymore.  Slowly, he reached out to his lunch tray, and poked his spoon into the pot of fruit puree, then spread the back of it along his scones, moving methodically and staring down at his work.

“Just for curiosity’s sake,” he said, when he was done, “what do you mean by _compliments_?”

Ezri’s gaze flicked upward as she placed the recollection.  She grinned back at him, and offered a giggle he could not help but mirror, even before she spoke.

“The first time I saw you, it wouldn’t stop telling me how soft your hands were.”

“Really?” he asked, setting aside his spoon and crossing his hands, raising a brow in amusement. 

“And that you’re a surprisingly good listener--”

“ _\--Surprisingly_ ,” he joked.  “Sorry, go on.” 

“And that we probably have a lot in common.”

“Oh, I’m sure we do.”

“Do you have some time free to talk?” she asked, leaning back to make herself more comfortable, “I mean, I could do with that raktajino after all.”

He had just come off a ten-hour shift in the Infirmary, but it was not exceptionally busy, and he had already finished a full glass of the stuff himself; he was not planning to go to bed for at least several more hours.  The thought of having company thrilled and refreshed him. It felt somewhat like Elim was inviting himself over for a debate.

“I’d like that,” he said.  “Just a moment, I’ll get it for you.”

*** 

The shuttle trip was cramped and chaotic, and Elim could think of nothing but his final contact with Julian.  Already, he had resolved to write no less than ten different volumes of letters, sorted intentionally by their topic, some too sentimental to ever see the light of day.  But it was so loud, he could not think it through further, to reach a practical compromise with himself; all he got was sentiment.

From his pocket, he slipped out the little tub of _temazotropic_ gel Julian had prescribed him for his flight.  It was a mild sedative and anticonvulsant, intended to help him sleep through the trip without attacks of anxiety or claustrophobia.  Foolishly, although at least based in his history of dependency, he decided immediately that he would not take the full dose; he would portion it out for further ordeals once he reached Cardassia.  Assuming he reached Cardassia at all, he thought bitterly, as he scooped some onto his fingers and rubbed it against the flared veins on his wrist.

He winced and let out a soft wailing sound as the ship hit turbulence.  The clouds surrounding Cardassia were thick and volatile, and, according to the pilot, impossible to take meaningful readings through.  They were preparing to land _somewhere_ , and had been briefed to deal with all manner of immediate emergencies, from fire and combustion to capsizing in the Northern Ocean.  

Someone was trying to take the seat beside him, and he reluctantly moved his pack away in time for them to sit.  They were mumbling frantically to - no, not themself, Garak noticed, when he curiously leaned in - an infant harnessed to their chest.  Garak could not fault the baby for beginning to cry, but he grasped the hair at his own temples and tugged it, nonetheless, raking his fingers in and out and failing to relieve the building tension.  He could vaguely hear the pilot continuing her outline of airborne evacuation procedures, and it made him feel sick.

Ducking his head against the window, he saw nothing.  As promised, the atmosphere was dusty and hazy and smoky, so he shut his eyes and sighed.  His parachute and breathing mask were dangling from the console overhead.

“I could…” he began to mumble to himself, too, voice buried beneath the anxious parent and child beside him, “I could _never_ … turn around, go back.  I could, I _could_.  I must…”

No, he continued the cadence in his thoughts, I did not survive all those years on that dreadful station only to be turned to dust.  Only to be… sprinkled as ashes into the soil of my homeworld, to regrow, to… _no_.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then stood and excused himself, with every intention of going to speak to the pilot.  For what reason, he did not even know. But somehow, a crowded, archaic cockpit seemed more comforting in that moment than rows of seats full of coughing passengers.  He stumbled, he gagged, he consoled himself with memories of Julian, and he rapped at the compartment door.

***

"Honestly, if we -" Ezri corrected herself, "Jadzia, I mean - knew about your parents ahead of time, she wouldn't have been so friendly toward them." 

"Oh, I don't doubt it," Julian said, good-naturedly.  "But that was rather the point: not to let anything seem unusual."

"Hmm," Ezri sighed thoughtfully into her mug.  It was empty.

"Let me get you another..." Julian offered, already standing and collecting it from her hand.

A little over an hour ago, they moved from the Replimat and into Julian's cabin, bringing the coffee mugs with them.  They were sitting on his couch together, Ezri's knees drawn up to her chest with her drink nestled between them, while Julian leaned forward and folded his arms together, reaching out often for his cup on the table so he could keep occupied.  Sharing their pasts became much easier when they each looked forward, rather than at one another.

"I don't think I knew anything about Jadzia's family, come to think of it," Julian observed, as he returned with a refreshed cup from the replicator.  "They must've been all right."

Ezri thought for a moment.

"They were.  That... happens a lot, it seems like.  Once you Join, you can forget things about your childhood family - not completely, and not always - but it's because you're joining a new one." She chuckled once, dejectedly, "I wish that'd happen to me."

"Mmm," Julian agreed.

Julian returned to his seat beside her, asking if she was comfortable with the current climate-control settings.  He had not spent much time on New Sydney, and wanted to ensure the computer's impressions were accurate enough.

They had already gone through a circular discussion about their own parents, and while neither minded repetition in general, this particular topic was easily worn out.  Julian did not know what else to say.

"We should do this again sometime," he offered.

She turned to steal a momentary glance at him, to be sure of his meaning.  There was an air of pleasant exhaustion about him, and the way he wrapped his fingers around the handle of his cup told her that he probably worked early the next morning.  But then he drummed his fingertips in a steady pattern, making little _clack_ ing sounds with his nails, and she was briefly unsure.  He seemed comfortable, until he noticed she was watching him.  He inhaled sharply and braced himself to speak, but she smiled at him, and saved him from the discomfort. 

"We should," she said.  "And I'm sorry we didn't do this earlier.  I didn't mean to avoid you, I was just... Dax was--"

"Oh, a lot to get used to, I'm sure," Julian said, blinking a few times, as if it filled the silence.  "You're forgiven. Don't even worry about that."

The overhead lights were dim, at this hour, but he rubbed his eyes anyway, to apologize for any awkwardness.  He was only _just_ learning how to behave for Ezri, specifically, and the more time they spent alone in each other's company, the more he would learn.  But only after first exhausting the rest of the casual behaviors he knew. It was late and he was tired, making maintaining his image difficult. 

Then it occurred to him - as she reached out to take his hand in what seemed to be a gesture of gratitude - that there was no need for performance.  She led him in a handshake and mirrored the little tapping motions he had made on his cup, brushing her nails gently against his knuckles. He helped her to stand and escorted her to the door, smiling politely, trying to restrain himself from looking fully awestruck until after she had gone.

"Dax has a hard time letting go," she explained, in conclusion.  "And I'm going to try and help it - all of them - with doing that and... I'll just start rambling about it.  This has been fun, thank you."

"I'll, um, I'd love to help, if I can.  Next week...?"

"Sure," she said, "you can help me unpack."

He did not notice from her expression that she wanted to kiss him - he was usually wrong in these matters, and forced himself to be patient whenever the possibility arose - so she draped one hand over his shoulder and pulled herself up enough to peck his cheek. 

When at last the door closed behind her, his grin was even brighter than he expected it to be, and he rushed off to bed before the mood could dissipate, regardless of the fact he knew he would spend the whole night awake and thinking.

***

The shuttle made a rough landing in a scorched field at the outskirt of Rekess, a sparsely-populated city that had been declining from its glory since the fall of the Hebetians.  Only a few buildings still stood, as the area had been converted to a nature preserve; the State had done this with the hope of limiting access to - and therefore interest in - the ancient religion.  Elim had visited it once in his youth with Mila and Tolan, and spent most of the morning fixated on a Cardassian _freesia_ , which sprouted dozens of lavender blooms on a horizontal stem originating from a single stalk.  But now, much of the flora had burned, and the open, ashen ground made a convenient airfield for transport ships.

Elim crossed his arms over his chest, clenching his elbows in his hands, as he waited for the rest of the passengers to evacuate.  He wanted to be the first to disembark, but his visit with the pilot had not gone well enough; he was shown back to his seat and given a completely different psychotropic compound to calm him, which he did not react well to.  There was a long moment where he feared he would not be able to stand unassisted - his legs tensed underneath his weight every time he so much as leaned forward - and so he waited to be alone on the craft.

The pilot emerged from her compartment to make a final check of the surroundings, and to remove anything left behind on the seats by mistake.  She noticed Elim and helped him up without a word, leading him calmly but persistently down the stairs and into the tawny reeds all around. Some of the other passengers were moving equally slowly, gathering their possessions from the outward-facing storage lockers, and Elim settled into place in the group, not too close to the uncomfortable center, but near the back where he felt best.  One of the men, he noticed, was wearing a military uniform, clean and brightly polished; he must have been stationed very far offworld indeed, Elim thought, to have the nerve to show up in this condition.

“It looks like Bajor, doesn’t it?” the Gul remarked, swinging a stuffed-full bag over his shoulder.

Elim doubled over and waited for the feeling of nausea to pass.  An older woman from the group turned and watched him, and gathered his hands gently between hers when he stood upright again. 

“I don’t think he would have the first _clue_ ,” said the woman.  “Not like you and I, hmm?”

Elim forced himself to feel better, laughing a little in a self-defeating tone.  If his newly imposed identity was one of a precarious veteran, he would take it for all it was worth.

“What an absolutely tasteless thing to say,” Elim snapped, while the woman held him back.

He squirmed out of her grip and she apologized; he did not know if he was better off remaining beside her or going to confront the Gul.  A swift slap to the face sounded much more appealing than a weighted clamp around his wrists. What was he, a prisoner? He was a free man at last, and if he wanted a fight…

No, that was the second injection talking.  Instead of calming him, it made him _much_ more irritable; he was dimly aware of his mental training blocking the intended effect, as if every month of practice existed as a physical barricade on the way to his processing center.  But what a _tasteless_ thing to say!  If anyone knew what mental frailties he was suffering, he might be admitted to a care facility, but the State did not run them anymore.  They were overflowing and then suddenly empty, and there was nowhere for Elim to go but home.

“I’m very sorry,” Elim echoed back to the woman.  “I simply cannot _stand_ to hear such unfounded hubris.”

She nodded at him solemnly, but seemed to think better of carrying on the conversation.

“If it is no trouble,” Elim went on, “I am… not greatly familiar with Prime; I was born on Cardassia V, you see.  I am looking to reach Paldar sector. Can you tell me where that is?” 

The woman shrugged.

“A few days if you are walking,” she said.  “To the north.”

Elim knew perfectly well how far it was, and that it was to the north _west,_ but he reached for her hand and squeezed at her wrist to show his gratitude.  

“Thank you,” Elim said. "And I cannot help asking, forgive me, but you seemed to imply you were on Bajor for a time?"

"Oh, ages ago.  I was stationed there with my husband, near the start of the Occupation.  They killed him, and he deserved it." She frowned pointedly in the direction of the Gul, "he probably does too, but you don't seem to."

"That's very kind of you, I'm sure..."

Elim did not know why he felt so compelled to speak to her, and then all of the reasons hit him at once, as soon as he was quiet.  Sometimes the mere act of speaking soothed him, he was intrigued by finding someone older and potentially wiser, and he still felt sick.  In a faint but appealing way, he wanted her to remind him of Mila, he _craved_ it.

"I didn't catch your name," Elim said, offering her his clean wrist to shake.  "Mine is Tolan." 

She was unfazed by being offered his non-dominant hand, and took it again tightly in her own.

"Yasaran," she said.

"Thank you, madam.  Are you going far?"

"Not unless they send me a ground-skimmer.  I hoped to land closer to Cardassia City, myself," she explained.  "That's where all of the Centers are popping up, and I have some experience as an instructor.  If they've any use for that."

"Oh, they must," Elim grinned in spite of himself.  "Perhaps I will make a point to visit you, from time to time."

"I would say that's optimistic, but you and I have at least another day of walking together, don't we?"

"Yes, it seems we do."

***

The next week, as promised, Julian arrived promptly on time to help Ezri arrange her quarters.  His experience told him an appropriate, casual question would be along the lines of 'why have you taken so long to unpack?' but there were many obvious possibilities, and he did not want to create distance by asking.

First, she was not planning on staying.  And then, of course, the war had left all of them preoccupied; she barely slept in her own quarters, most nights, because she was always needed elsewhere.  

She met him at the door and took his hand, then shook it, then blushed slightly.

"I'm glad to help," he assured, stepping inside. 

There were not many boxes left to deal with, at least not in the main room, but Julian noticed immediately that the furniture had not been arranged.  Ezri received replicator patterns for a sofa, a larger bed, and several sets of storage shelves. Miles had helped her build some of the pieces before he left, but beyond that, Ezri had not bothered with moving them.  Julian glanced at the precarious tower, nodding thoughtfully.

"Are you settling in alright, otherwise?" he asked, already dislodging the head of the bed-frame and lifting it up under his arm.

"Not bad," she said. 

Then she gestured to the bedroom and followed him there.

"I have to call a maintenance team to get the Cardassian one out of the wall," she explained.

"I see that."

Julian leaned the frame against the opposing wall, scooting the armchair out of the way, and then went to bring in the next piece.  Ezri trailed along behind and helped him carry the slats, a few at a time.

They finished with the bed quickly, and then brought in the shelves to arrange beside it.  Julian wondered where the second one should go, since the bed was pressed flush to the wall, but when he arrived in the room with it in his arms, Ezri rushed to pull the whole bed outward, toward the center of the room.  That was a good sign, he thought, for... he was not sure exactly. But there was a nightstand on each side of the bed, and that was _good_.

"I really appreciate this," she said.

"Oh, well, what are b--" he cleared his throat, "what are friends for?"

He was relieved that she did not ask him to clarify, and he promptly left to sort through boxes until the incident outdated itself.  Some large part of him was _fully prepared_ to say ‘boyfriend’ just like that, without an official discussion between them.  There were two nightstands with a bed between _them_ , but what did _that_ mean?  Nothing, Julian scolded himself internally.  

Some of the boxes in the kitchen contained cups, saucers, and other serving implements.  Curiously, Julian sorted these into sets - they had been packed with other alike items - and arranged them on the counter.  He distributed a teacup to each saucer, and then the saucer in turn to each plate, and Ezri came out to watch him. 

“Did they not replicate dishware on the _Destiny_?” he asked, not knowing how long she had been standing beside him.

“Oh, um… no, they _did_.  These were Tobin’s.”

“Tobin’s?”

“He did these beautiful family dinners.  One of his great-grandchildren heard about what happened, and they wanted me to have it.  The whole set. I don’t know where I’ll put it.” 

Julian picked up one of the saucers and turned it over, admiring the pattern of silver bars that ran from the center in a straight line to the rim, and then continued on the bottom side.  The continuity felt _right_ to him, circular and endless.

“I’ll put them back, then, for now,” Julian offered.  “You might need some more glass cabinets installed.”

“Maybe.  I can’t… decide, yet, if I want to use them, or just look at them, you know?” 

“Are you worried about breaking one?” 

She laughed, looking genuinely surprised.

“No, although with forty pieces, I’d call that fairly likely.  Did I tell you what I decided to do?” 

“About… the plates?”

“About Dax; I haven’t told you.  It has such a hard time letting go of everything, and I thought I might be able to help it.”

“Then you’d better keep them in boxes, right?  If you don’t want to think about them?”

“Boxes for now, you’re right.  But I need to take every host on a case-by-case basis, treating them like the rich, vibrant individuals they were.  So maybe, for Tobin, he wants to have tea out of one of those mugs once a week - the one Raifi chipped that Tobin always used so he wouldn’t feel bad about it.  Or maybe he’d rather look at them in a cabinet every time he eats, so he can remember without feeling rude.  It’s… a lot to sort out, but I’m really looking forward to it, now that Dax is interested in help.  Giving and getting.”

Julian stared at her, impressed and endeared, and fluffed up one of the polyfil sheets to tuck between layers of dishes inside the box.  

“That’s… really good of you,” Julian eventually observed.  “I haven’t had the opportunity to study much about Trill culture, but that seems _very_ appropriate.”

“I have,” Ezri teased, “and it’s not.  But I’m not a brainwashed host, and Dax isn’t a conventional symbiont.”

When Tobin’s tea-set had been dealt with, they divided the remaining boxes between the bedroom and the living room.  Ezri tossed clothes into the laundry chute without discrimination, while Julian ensured all of the other boxes were scooted out of the way of the couch.  He finished his task slightly faster than Ezri did hers, so he reclined on the couch and unzipped his jacket, using the loosened panels to fan himself.

Soon, she returned to the living room and ordered them each a supplement-water from the replicator.  She brought his over and asked if she should turn on the fans.

“Oh, this is fine, thank you.  I actually kind of… I like doing this, if it doesn’t bother you…?”

“No,” she said gently, “I don’t mind.”

After he was cool and content, he spared one hand to collect his water glass, and set the other down atop his knee.  Hesitantly, Ezri let hers hover above this point, waiting to see some kind of confirmation before continuing. Julian nodded, but then promptly tilted his head and swallowed around a question.  This was… nice.

With his head tilted and his lips pursed, he exuded nothing but _interest_ , and soon Ezri was leaning in more closely to his ear and asking if she could kiss him.

“Please,” he said, numb in anticipation.

They rubbed their noses together and shared two chaste kisses, and then a third, which lingered and led into an embrace.  Ezri turned to face him, sitting astride his lap, and sifted her fingers through his hair. They barely broke apart to breathe, then, sharing only the warm air between their lips, letting it intoxicate them.

She unzipped her coat, too, welcoming Julian to explore underneath it for a while before guiding him toward Dax.

“Hhhnn,” he sighed, shocked.  “Your hands are cold.”

“Sorry.  Here.”

She removed her hand and breathed hotly against her palm before returning it to cup Julian’s, through her own shirt.  His hands were warm on her skin, and when she applied gentle pressure, he felt the intermittent tremors Dax produced when it was most active.

“Does it bother you?” she asked.  “If I consider myself and Dax as separate?”

He did not need time to think of answer, but to return to thinking at all.  

“No,” he said.  “I think this is… exciting.  And I like you very much.”

They kissed again.  Broke apart, breathed…

“I like you very much, too,” she replied.  “I think we have a lot in common.”

“I think so, too,” Julian felt most comfortable echoing.  

And ‘commonality’ was a more than sufficient point for love to originate from, as far as he was concerned.

“I think I might love you,” he clarified.

“Really?”

This did not seem to discourage her in the slightest, and she continued moving against him, pressing her belly to his, moaning softly when he touched the point on her chest where Dax resided.  

“Passionately,” he said.

***

Elim had said his farewell to Yasaran only hours ago, before stumbling into the barest perimeter of Paldar and collapsing to his knees.  The structures all around him were razed and burning, just as he remembered them. He crawled a little way further, approaching a glowing metal pillar, holding his wrist close to it for the warmth.  In his entire field of vision he saw blurry spots, and he kept his eyes shut for increasingly long periods, afraid both of remaining in pain while awake and of being injured in some worse way if he fell asleep.

The walk was exhausting, and only slightly longer than Yasaran's original estimate.  They had stopped twice to sleep along the way, and Elim took advantage of these stationary periods to remove the most easily-excusable electronic devices from his pack.  He had equipment to purify water, to reconstitute rations, and to send basic homing signals. Still concealed, he had also brought along several padds and a large case of data-rods and chips, containing copies of _every_ file he thought even slightly relevant, gathered from his private terminals across the station.  They slept in the heat while the sun was up, and he used the light to recharge the primitive signalling device, in case he would need to use it.

He did not feel any great desire to return to his childhood home, but he could not think of anywhere else; he did not want to turn up at any of the new Relief Centers without having something to offer them.  Cardassia had not been greatly hospitable to those who needed basic assistance, in the past, and although the atmosphere was changing, he felt it was at his own cost - his own Sacrifice.

Now, as he looked around Paldar and finished one of his water rations, he knew where he should go.  He took another dose of the gel, even smaller than before, and massaged it into his wrist. Gradually, his breathing slowed and deepened, and the haze receded from his eyes.  Then he raised himself on aching knees and trudged forward until he reached the gates of his home, well after nightfall.

His sight was notably above average in pure darkness - due to his years of undercover training - but he still squinted as he brought one of the data-rods to the lock, plugging it in and overriding a code he had long-since been denied.  He thought he saw someone along the perimeter, not near the house at all, but near the garden shed - his own intended destination. Once, in the course of his walk with Yasaran, he had collapsed and let her carry him more than a hundred steps before he felt guilty enough to try again without assistance; then, he thought the shed might be a fitting place for him to die in.  Somehow, the thought itself inspired him to find strength to disprove it, if nothing else.

Yes, he thought as he hauled open one of the doors, there was someone patrolling the grounds.  

The figure was walking with a purpose showing in its steps, although Elim could not yet work out _what_ they wanted.  They moved quickly, glancing once over their shoulder before sprinting.  Elim shuddered and nearly slammed the gate shut behind himself in his haste to lock it.  Whether or not the visitor was friendly, Elim decided already that he wanted to be on the inside of the fence.  More than that, he wanted to be in his father's garden shed, surrounded by decaying bulbs and carts of soil and archaic tins of stagnant water.

"Garak?" the figure asked hesitantly, in an unmistakable Terran chirp.

"Doctor?"

Elim's pack was secure on his shoulder, or else he would have dropped it.  The rod he was holding clattered from his hand, though, as he stared into the youthful, unaffected face of his friend.

" _Julian_ ," he amended, making his voice more friendly.  "How did you get in?" 

"I landed here," the figure said, seeming distracted.  "Beamed inside directly."

"Oh, of course.  How clever. Are you--"

"I'm not able to stay long, but I wanted to check in on you and remind you about your medication."

"Yes, what about it," said Elim, flatly.  "I've just applied some, you'll be pleased to hear."

"Have you eaten in the last three days?"

"I've felt nauseous, and have been _quite_ busy walking, if you didn't know.  Why are you--"

"Damn.  I should've known to bring nutrition bars with me."

"Julian...?"

The figure turned around, preoccupied with something, waving its hands and continuing along the perimeter line.  Every so often, as Elim followed it, he noticed it would reach out to touch the fence-posts, but he heard no electricity.  He reasoned with himself that he did not have exceptional hearing to begin with, and had likely lost some during the bombings.  Anyway, the fence still emitted a glow when it was touched, but Julian did not seem pained by it. Perhaps it was not operating at its full capacity; Elim would be surprised if anything was.  But this was Tain's property, after all, and he could think of no place else more likely and less deserving to autonomously maintain its amenities.

"Julian," Elim repeated, struggling to increase his pace, "aren't you going to _speak to me_?"

The faint glow existed all around its body.  Elim blinked deeply and shook his head, trying to clear and reset the spots from his vision.

"If I've done something to offend you, I'm not sure why you bothered coming to see me at all," Elim continued.  "Unless it's to teach me a lesson, but _believe me_ , I have endured enough of them from you."

Curiously, he followed until they reached the shed.  The figure slipped its nimble fingers between the door panels and forced it open, holding it this way until Elim stepped inside.

"Are you going to--" Elim began to repeat his demand, but he was immediately and lovingly shushed.

"We can talk tomorrow.  I want to ensure you get a good night's sleep."

Julian closed the door quietly and gestured to a cot, unfolded and draped in crisp, clean blankets.  

"Where on _Prime_ did you manage to--" but Elim was interrupted again.

"I didn't; the Relief Center is installing them in every habitable building.   _Now use it_."

Blearily, Elim blinked and slid his pack beneath the raised mattress, before peeling back the sheets and settling himself.  Julian continued watching him, after shutting the door and barricading it and beginning to pace aimlessly around the little room.  The light shifted along with each movement, and Elim was almost certain he was imagining Julian's presence. There were times during the night, though, which convinced him otherwise.

Twice, he swore he felt Julian's weight on top of him, not crushing him, merely caressing him and keeping him steady.  But when Elim tore his eyes open, Julian was leaning against the door. The third time, he thought Julian had slid into bed next to him, stealing the remaining slip of padding and forcing both of them to rest on their sides.  Again, when Elim found the conviction to tear himself away from this fantasy, he saw Julian at the door.

"You're restless.  I'm going to find you a weighted blanket," Julian promised, kneeling beside the bed and carefully arranging his arms at the outer edge of Elim's, on both sides.

For a moment, Elim struggled against this, fearing confinement.  But this was _Julian_ , and the touch was gentle.  He thought of Mila, of Yasaran, of Ziyal... were all of his meaningful connections so frail and fleeting?  So utterly single-sided?

"Julian..." he spoke faintly, afraid he had come into this shed to die, after all.

"Hmm?" Julian made a soft sound, low in his throat.  Rather than remove his arms, he pressed his cheek close to Elim's, providing a reassuring touch. 

"I'm going to die here," Elim said.

"That's a lie.  I've got you, _my dear_ , now go back to sleep."

Elim slept peacefully, until he awoke with a sudden start.  He expected to find greater weight on his sides, so when he jerked forward, he threw the blankets off.  It was not cold, but he shivered at their sudden absence, and fumbled with both hands through the darkness until he gathered them from the floor.  Crookedly, he reapplied them and reclined again. Then, it occurred to him that he had not seen Julian.

The cot occupied the majority of the floor-space in the shed, and if Julian was not at the door, there was very little room left for him to be occupying.  Elim glanced backward over his shoulder, where a retractable, folding work-desk was installed in the wall. Neither the seat nor the table had been extended, and Julian was nowhere to be seen.  On either side of the mattress, there were assorted pots and tins and planting boxes, but these, too, were untouched.

"Julian?" he called out, feeling dizzy and alone.  " _Julian_?  Mercies, _please_..."

He stood and dressed himself in something marginally cleaner from inside his pack, and then unlocked the shed door to go outside.  The sheets from his cot felt smooth and pleasant against his skin, so he draped them over his neck and shoulders as he left. Or perhaps it was the weight he liked, even if he did not admit it... 

Julian was nowhere to be seen.  Elim used what remaining strength he had to stroll the stone-paved path that led from the shed to the garden, and then further along the fence to a maintenance and storage building, finding nothing.  

Back inside the shed, he left the door open, in case Julian might rush in, breathless and calling desperately for Elim's assistance.  That was the picture his mind presented, and it moved him swiftly to the wall-mounted desk. He unfolded this and the seat, and began to arrange some of the computer pieces he had packed.  As soon as his padd was operational, he began to type, feverishly. He typed everything he had wanted to say to Julian, the night before.

Elim was easily agitated, especially with himself as the subject.  When he took breaks for water or food, he returned to his seat and accused himself of leaving too soon, forgetting his thoughts mid-sentence, unable to pick them up again.  He pored over his work - thousands of words in the first day alone - and dismissed it all as too personal. What was he thinking, sniveling about his childhood as if it made any difference to Julian?  What he was really doing was trying to postpone a certain lapse of judgement for as long as possible; he was afraid of sending anything declarative of love.

"Oh, how _trite_ ," he lamented, as he spent the night proofreading and otherwise taking poor care of himself.

His mind phased in and out of the imagery his memoir presented, and he felt hopeless.  He slumped low over the desk and purified the potable but filmy-colored water from the watering tins to drink.  All of his thoughts were caught on this misstep, this horrible thing he might admit to, and they fought with his fingers, as they continued typing other meaningless personal details long into the night.  

After a time Elim did not keep track of, there was a gentle knock at the door-frame.

"Garak?"

Julian entered the shed slowly, with his hands up in a passive gesture.  He was wearing a greyish lab coat, this time, and his name and rank were embroidered on the lapel in Cardassi.

"Oh, you are without a doubt my most difficult patient," Julian said, while Elim remained quiet, a few mental paces behind.

Tucking the padd out of sight behind his back, Elim eventually met Julian's gaze and nodded in greeting.

"I'm... sorry?" Elim eventually said.

"Back to bed.  Where is your _temazotropic_ solution?  In here?"

He began rifling through Elim's pack, a task which was made much simpler since Elim had removed all of the electronics.

"It's only been a few hours," Elim answered, deliberately misleading him.  "And I slept perfectly well."

"It's been two-and-a-half _weeks_ ," Julian insisted, forcing Elim down with a harsh grip on his shoulder.

"Doctor, you don't seem yourself at all."

"And neither do you.  When did you last eat, Garak?  Have you left your shop for _anything_?"

"I am... not in my shop.  A slip of the tongue, dear?"

"Garak, please.  Get back in bed; I need to make you an IV."

Genuinely confused, Elim did as he was told.  He shut his eyes for a while - as he usually did to help any administrator of pain feel more comfortable with his reactions - but in this case, the pain never came.  No needle ever met his arm, and when he searched under the cot for his bag, and for Bashir snooping through it, he saw nothing. Over his shoulder, he saw his bag sitting on the folding chair, and absolutely all of its contents strewn over his haphazard pile of electronics.  Rumpled clothes clung to monitors and a pillow-like stack of water ration packets housed his padd in a little nest.

It occurred to him, then, that he must have been hallucinating.  He did not know for how long, or what had caused it, although he guessed it was his own poor judgement in denying food to accompany his gel.  Had he really been in this state for weeks? He swore quietly, because there was no reliable way to find out. When he called to his padd from the cot, it gave him a useless stardate, and when he asked for it to recite the elapsed time since its activation, it gave a figure of seconds, which he knew was impossible.  He had grown noticeably thinner in whatever time had passed, and his head was _pounding_.  He crawled from his bed to the stack of water packets, toppling all of them, sighing with relief when he gathered them in his arms again and found them undamaged.  Selecting one of them, he sliced open the plastifilm with his fingernail - it was longer and sharper than he usually allowed it to grow - and then he drank the entire thing.

Judging by the growth and the hook of this claw of his, he decided two-and-a-half weeks was a fair estimate.  He did not know what he had done in all that time; he knew he needed help.

Putting together the pieces his mind provided, he reached several key decisions.  He would seal up the communique without obsessively re-reading it, and he would send it back to the station.  It might take days on his current, pathetic system arrangement, sucking up its only power from reflected sunlight.  Anyway, he was not entirely sure if Julian would be found on Deep Space Nine, or at one of the Relief Centers in the city as his coat seemed to suggest.  Elim could seek help there, in either case. Certainly there would be caregivers of some qualification; science had long been a Cardassian mainstay.  An art, an elegance.  

While he was thinking about this, wallowing in reluctant acceptance of the help he needed, his padd chirped at him, crying out for another recharge.

He swiped at the desk and it clattered down into reach, but he could not catch the end of the solar bank's cord between his fingers, so he chose to let it die - after he sent out his name and his own qualifications on a local channel, one he hoped would be monitored by the Centers.  As he was doing it, he was fully aware that it was the most foolish and blatantly public atrocity he had ever committed. His name, training, and ailments, typed out into a neat but unsanctioned form? Mercies, he thought, it might be found by _anyone_.

But it was too late.  He received confirmation of its sending, and then the padd slowly fizzled out of life.

***

When Elim found sufficient strength within himself, he crawled to the solar port and ensured his padd charged to the point of usefulness.  He needed to finish his collection of letters for Julian, but he also needed to work out exactly where Julian was.

It meant - as much as he dreaded the public eye - he would need to venture into the City.  In preparation, he heated and starched the most visible stains and creases from two sets of his clothes, gathered the seeds and bulbs he knew to be edible, and purified all that remained inside the reservoir tank for the garden so he could drink it.  Relief Centers would be waiting for him in the City, likely stretched to their breaking capacity, but if he _needed_ to...

He shook his head at himself, for expecting to be given any help at all.  He had never in all his life been the kind of operative to drop his own name in exchange for favors.  This, of course, was his good deeds for the planet in exchange for basic necessities, but his mind did not make the distinction.  He did not want anyone feeling bad for him; pride was perhaps the only Cardassian trait worth clinging to, and he did not like the thought of squelching it in the City, where it had always thrived.

Cardassia'or was, in some ways, exactly as he remembered it.  He stumbled along the perfectly straight pavement into the middle of the sprawling legal district, dictating his route by memory, passing charred statues and wilting flowerbeds in his search for the Centers.  Before he boarded the shuttle home, he had read all about them. They were temporary structures, walls of canvas stretched taut between thick alloy pillars, and they did not have windows. Something was written about 'growth from within' in the record Elim read, and he had originally laughed at it for being a romanticized account.  But then, as he saw the place in person, he realized it was accurate, and Cardassia had been guilty of such poetic antics since long before his birth.

Great crowds were lining up outside of the tents, filtering in and out as dictated by the Coordinator, who wore a special olive-colored coat for the sake of easy identification.  Elim thought about searching for Yasaran, but he could barely remember what she looked like; he remembered the way she spoke and the way she carried herself, and he imagined she looked a lot like Mila.  But then, he knew he had no desire to see _Mila_ right now, or ever again in her current state.

He read the signs on each of the tents, and it saddened him to see they replaced, in the most basic sense, the Official buildings which used to exist directly behind this very courtyard, prior to the war.  One could go into a Center to receive vital records and licenses, reclaimed resources - during the Bajoran Occupation, these were things blatantly stolen - or health services. The latter was also serving meals and offering clothing to those who needed it, and Elim approached it hesitantly, one of his brow-ridges cocked upward.  It was almost disappointing to see they had made simplified copies of their previous resources, Elim thought; had they really learned nothing?

The Coordinator was busy with a long line of inquisitive citizens, and Elim was grateful.  He went into the health services tent without being questioned, and he arranged himself inconspicuously in the meal line, approaching a team of volunteers who worked behind a table and a hanging fiberglass partition.  One of the volunteers was, as Elim politely deduced to himself, of Intentionally Indeterminate Sex, a legal designation which had mostly fallen out of use during the Occupation, when decades of births were optimistically assigned to masculine alignments to feed the desperate maw of the Military.  They were perhaps old enough to have skirted the Occupational limits - their hair was long, grey, and un-starched - but Elim could not easily tell. Their face was familiar in a way, and they gazed up at each person they served through the partition, providing them with a week's worth of rations in a bag after the hot, fresh meals had run out for the day.  When Elim finally made it to this active role at the front of the line, their eyes met his with some hesitance, and they returned eagerly to sifting through their Federation-supplied box of meals.

"Excuse me, Doctor" Elim said, noting the pin they wore on their lapel, "I was seeking to volunteer, if you have placements.  I was..."

The figure looked at him more studiously, and then broke the contact as if it had physically burned them.  And then, just as Elim prepared to humble himself, he remembered.

This was Doctor Kelas Parmak, who returned to Cardassia years ago to practice medicine and had, apparently, never abandoned it again.  Elim swallowed and forced himself to adopt the same level of commitment.

"...a tailor," Elim said.  "I was a tailor for nearly twenty years, and I notice you are providing clothing and packing equipment and - I assume - patches for canvas tents?  I am able to work without electronic aids, if that is of any additional benefit..."

"We are always seeking applications," Kelas said.

"Wonderful, thank you.  Also, perhaps you can help me with a personal matter..."

Elim accepted the packets Kelas passed to him, and tucked them away in his shoulder-bag.  

"...I am looking for a friend of mine, another physician.  I am hoping he was assigned to this Center, but I'm afraid he did not leave me any details."

"His name?"

"His name is Doctor Bashir... And he is a human."

"Unless he was depositing our supplies, I suppose.  That was several weeks ago."

Elim's curiosity tingled at this, the chance to fall back onto decades of skilled work and training.  But the line behind him was becoming impatient, and he had already received his packets, and found the conviction to offer his own services in return.  He could have asked after the man's height, his skin-tone, his uniform, but he needed to save this for another day, or another subject.

 _Subject_.

"I'm sorry... to impose.  Thank you for your generosity, Doctor," Elim said, indicating his pack and departing from the Center.


	2. 8.02 - Old Associations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elim meets with Kelas Parmak, a doctor he sentenced to hard labor during the Bajoran Occupation. And Ezri begins collecting items from Dax's past families.

Without much motivation, but lacking anywhere else to go, Elim accepted the appointment Kelas Parmak made with him.  He had spent a few more aimless days in the city, rotating between the relief tents, before Kelas caught him by the arm and led him back to the health service area.  At the back of the tent, behind the provisions of food and canvas, the Medical Unit itself was affixed. On his tour Elim saw several nurses and orderlies but no other doctors, and many hobbling patients but few cots for them to rest on.  He and Kelas both did their best to look at the ground until they reached their destination, and Kelas shut the door behind them. Elim found himself looking forward to a beating.

“I saw your name on a passenger manifest,” said Kelas, gently.

Elim was grateful for the seat the doctor had offered, neatly upholstered and soft, reassuring despite the surroundings.  They held their appointment in Kelas’s office at the Med Unit, crumbling and emitting smoke like anywhere else. But the office itself was a haven, kept relatively cool and clear as a favor from a ruptured pipe, spitting water and steam into the room without interruption.  Kelas had cleared one side of their desk accordingly, saving valuable documents and electronic components from the spray, leaving a puddle on the metal surface which they traced idly with one fingertip.

“I saw it, before, on the _station_ manifest,” they continued.  “And when I learned you were applying to the Civilian Relief Effort… I followed you very carefully.”

“May I ask why?” Elim expected a lecture.

Kelas had yet to meet his eyes - the closest they had come was watching the reflection in the puddle - and dug through their desk drawer for some papers.   _Papers_ , Elim thought, marvelling at the smoke all around them.  When Kelas found the one they wanted, they tapped one of their long fingernails over Elim’s name, written out in Cardassi.

“Oh, I have been following you ever since… our incident,” they said, modestly.  “I had several contacts who thought your whereabouts would be of value to me, and I cannot say they were wrong.”

“How often I forget you, too, were an agent of the Order.”

“We all make mistakes,” Kelas said, their voice much softer than Elim felt comfortable with.  “And according to my records, here, you were associated with a Federation-trained physician for a period of seven years?”

“I was.”

“You stated in your application an inclination f--”

“--for survival and preservation,” Elim quoted, “yes, I did.”

“I have a great deal of respect for those traits, and for some of your actions I have observed over the years.  I value honesty…”

Elim still could not tell if he _was_ being lectured.  Kelas was speaking softly and patiently, looking just up and to the left of his eyes - at the door handle to the exit, in fact - but they were bringing up the _past_ like a syringe and filling it, like the injection Elim took before interrogating Kelas all those years ago, anyway.

“I have no medical qualification,” Elim said, outright.  “And beyond refilling my _temazotropic_ gel, I don’t see myself having any cause whatsoever to frequent a medical facility.”

Politely, Kelas nodded, and then made another shaky attempt to meet Elim’s eyes.

“I understand,” they said.  “But if you are willing and able to learn, I would like to sign off on your application.  You would be _safe_ here.”

Not knowing what else to do, Elim cleared his throat and folded his hands on the table.  His wrist felt slippery, grimy against the metal surface, and he tugged at his sleeve to cover what remained of the gel he applied that morning.

“Safe,” Kelas affirmed.  “I imagine there are others here you have wronged, who would not like to see you, _unless_ you are approaching them in a medical tunic.”

“That is… a very unique perspective.”

“I have already put you in danger by association,” Kelas explained.

“And I you.”

“Yes,” Kelas said, simply.  “When I saw you at the center, I knew your need was genuine.  Your need to serve and repay.”

Elim admired their candor, and thought, in some strange way, the two of them shared a bond already.  As far as he had worked out before applying to return home, he did not personally _know_ any of the other individuals registered to Prime.  But he knew Kelas, and they remembered him and snapped up his name from a pool of applicants, protecting him from claims liable to be made by the Intelligence forces, the Archival Reconstructionists, or even the Military.  Elim was destined not only for Social Services, but to give and receive them, to pay back his debt of absence in the most profound way he could think of. He was going to learn to _heal_.

“I am aware of several field triage techniques,” Elim added, after awhile.

“I thought you might be.”

Kelas extended their arm and inclined their head politely before taking Elim’s wrist and squeezing it in formal greeting.  The gel made a squelching sound between Kelas’s fingers and the cuff of Elim’s sleeve, for which he apologized and offered his non-dominant hand.

“And we will see about getting you more of your prescription,” Kelas said kindly.  “I must report I did not find any trace of your friend, but I intend to contact him if it is beyond our power to synthesize, here.”

At this, Kelas made a flippant gesture to the industrial replicator built into the wall behind them.  It was several decades out of date, Elim could tell, and a panel of its control unit had been blatantly torn off, leaving some vital wiring exposed.  

“I can repair that, too,” Elim said.

Kelas gave him a smile.

“I have a cot in a private room,” they said.  “If you would like it, you are welcome to it.  I most often work in the evenings; we can trade off.”

Elim thought there was nothing stranger than sharing - in a way - a bed with someone he had interrogated, whose sentence had exiled both of them, with the intention of death.  But he accepted the offer with a little nod, and then asked if there was a terminal he could use to send a message from his padd.

“It works sometimes,” Kelas shrugged.  

“Thank you.”

He connected his padd, found the station’s signal with ease, and sent his memoirs immediately to Julian.  

 _Come back_ , he typed at the end of it all.

***

Into their tradition, Julian and Ezri gradually began to incorporate the arrival of their letters and parcels, like their relatives would have enjoyed in antiquity.  Julian received a large digital file from Elim, which he worked through gradually, but then he also found scattered messages - some physical, some digital - transcribed and sent by an individual named Doctor Parmak, with whom Elim seemed to be residing.  Ezri's latest acquisition was a lacy robe that had apparently belonged to Emony.

She wore it to bed one night, and found Julian attached to it like a sphynx to a riddle, working out every detail of the intricate pattern between his fingers when he laid down beside her.  The fabric was soft and soothing, expertly designed, sturdily constructed...

"Something new from Garak?" she prompted, when Julian finally broke contact in order to unfold a piece of grey paper.

"Hmm?  Oh, his doctor, I'm fairly sure,” Julian said flatly, feeling displaced.

"His doctor?  Is everything okay?"

"It... hmm," Julian said again, as he read the messy handwriting.  

He felt _good_ about seeing Kelas's attempts at writing in Standard, but Julian knew enough Cardassi to find the annotations more helpful in deducing the context.  The whole picture gave the appearance of Kelas typing a message into a padd and then finding it unable to connect to the station's frequency, perhaps due to a lack of power on Cardassia.  This kind of thing was not uncommon; he monitored the situation as best he could, knowing they were reluctant to take Federation assistance.

"It seems he's... taken a position at a Medical Center in Cardassia City, under Doctor Parmak's leadership.  He mentioned my name, and Parmak decided to find me."

"So, Garak _is_ okay?"

"Probably not, hang on.  'Residence of field flower-box,'" Julian read.  "That word's 'Tain,' I know that one."

"Tobin knew a Cardassian poet," Ezri said, reaching over his arm and trying to help.  "And Curzon and Jadzia _and_ I are all fluent in Standard."

Julian surrendered the paper to her easily, and returned to stroking the frills of her robe, perfectly content with the distraction.

"He’s living at the hospital, but before that he lived in a shed on Tain's property," Ezri explained.  "Tain was...?"

"The worst man I've ever met," Julian muttered.

"The former Head of the Obsidian Order, and Garak's father."

"How did you--?  I didn't tell a _soul_."

"Parmak says it, here.  I _did_ remember about the Order, though, thank you."

She tapped to indicate one of the lines, and Julian leaned in for a closer look.

"Thank _you_ ," Julian emphasized.  

When she was finished, he took the paper back again, and read over it all more carefully.  

"Garak can't be well at all, if he's going around telling strangers _anything_ about Tain, or about himself."

"None of it _sounds_ malicious.  I mean, I guess it could be a poor translation, but... I don't know, it sounds genuine to me."

"Oh, I didn't think Parmak was taking advantage.  I'm just... wondering what Garak is doing, or if he knows he's doing it."

"You should go and visit him," Ezri said, flat-out.

"I should, I know,” Julian said, not wanting to at all.  “It feels like it's been a lot longer than two months."

"You're nervous?" Ezri asked.

She turned to face him for a moment, allowing him to confirm that she had _read_ him.  

"Yes," he said.

"Were you nervous about talking to me?"

"I'm _dating_ you," he countered.  "So _obviously_ , yes, and I got over it, and I see what you're trying to do.  But this isn't the same."

"You already knew me, you already know Garak.  And you know he might need your help."

"That's it, exactly," Julian agreed, ignoring the fact he conceded to Ezri's point.  "I don't think he wants my help. I just started reading _his_ letter, in his own words, and... I don't know, it sounds distant.  Like he doesn't expect to see me again."

"I never knew him to be an optimist," Ezri observed.

"Oh, this is all perfectly fatalist.  It reads like a memoir. What's the Cardassian ritual, before death?"

"Shri'tal," Ezri supplied.  "And he would tell you. He would be obligated to tell you that before initiating it."

"Well, he's _Garak_."

Julian tossed his arms in frustration, and Ezri waited before scooting between them again, taking one of his hands and guiding it to the hem of her dress where the patterns were widest and most elaborate.  

"If he's spending time with a doctor, you'd hear if anything was seriously wrong," Ezri reassured.  "He can't write a letter to fake his vitals."

"That's true, he can't."

"And if you want me to read it over, too, for a second opinion...?"

"Thank you," he said, squeezing her hand, "but I'd like to finish it for myself, first.  It's addressed to me, specifically. But I'm a very fast reader, and... I just..."

"I understand, and I won't feel bad if you never share it all."

"Really?"

"Really."

She pulled at his shoulder, indicating she wanted to kiss him, and her target tonight was his cheek.  As they parted again, they brushed noses, and he sighed happily.

"Just because we're together, doesn't mean I expect to have access to your entire life,"  Ezri said. "I value your privacy, and I want you to trust me."

"Spoken like a true professional," he teased, leaning over her to kiss her lips, this time.  "But thank you. I do."

Those particular words echoed against his eardrums as he said them, and he hoped he had not been too overzealous on accident.  

"Is that, um," he began, "too much, for two months?  This kind of topic?"

Ezri shook her head.

"It's like I've known you for eight years.  I think we can handle a serious discussion every now and then."

"Mmm," he vocalized his agreement as a hum, and promptly returned to playing with the patterned lace at her hemline.

" _Mmm_ what?" she prompted, as his face took on a more laid-back and salacious expression.

"Oh, Emony had very good taste, that's all.  She wouldn't mind if I got you a new one for your birthday, would she?"

"Are you planning on ruining this one?" Ezri said lightly.

"Not at all.  Let's just say I want to spoil you a little.  I want you to know what an amazing girlfriend you are."

Ezri turned to face him again, pursing her lips.

"You should get yourself one, too," she decided.

"I fully intend to," Julian said, flustered and hiding it decently.  "And I'd wear it for you every night. Hell, I'd wear it for _me_ every night - so soft to the touch..."

Ezri welcomed him to keep teasing her, pulling herself in close against his chest and settling her chin on shoulder.  His hands crept around her back, remaining firmly tethered to the hem, even as it darted to her inner thigh.

"Soft," she replied, sounding giddy and then covering her mouth with one hand.

"I'm sorry, Dax, what was that?" Julian teased.  

Sometimes, as the two of them had learned together, Dax would fixate itself on a single concept, and would do all it could to get Ezri in agreement.  

"Was that about me?" he asked, pinching at her thigh.

Ezri folded her lips flat together and nodded quickly, not quite embarrassed, but certainly endeared.  

"And it wanted me to know Emony ruined four of these, before this one."

"I'm going to order you _five_."

Even as he pleasured her, he could not stop himself from thinking of Elim. _Not like that_ , he repeatedly told himself, but because he wanted a reliable source to handle this particular order.  He imagined Elim's fingers, the sharp but neatly-manicured nails, weaving together individual threads of lace into floral patterns.  Elim would pause and draw them up to his mouth, slicking them with his tongue so he could return to work without tangling two ends together...

Julian withdrew his hand, then, and did the same.   He felt Dax vibrating, helping them along.

***

Elim's first few nights at the Unit were cathartic.  While Kelas worked, he slept on the doctor's cot beneath two heavy blankets, leaving a divide between them, down the middle of his body, so he would not feel trapped.  He repaired the computer terminal and made some modifications to the synthesizer, and finally collected both the willpower and the background information necessary to send his collection of letters onward to Julian.  Working on intricate tasks with his hands gave him great pleasure and deepened his focus, and he did not find it shameful. It was much the same as when he was assigned to the position of Tailor on Deep Space Nine - a post which had, until two days before his arrival, been filled by a Bajoran whom the Prefect had reason for removing.  The job was meant to demean him, but rather than allow it to do so, Elim took pride in learning its complexities, and in safely irritating the Prefect, himself.

He and Kelas rarely saw one another for more than a few overlapping minutes at a time, usually in the early mornings when Kelas was fixing themself breakfast.  Elim noticed, on the very first instance, that Kelas had a habit of tearing open a single ration packet and splitting it in half, reconstituting the half they did not consume for themself with an additional measure of water, so the resulting paste could be fed more easily to any of their bedridden patients.  Elim did not point this out, but merely tucked it away in his mind as he got to know the doctor better.

After several weeks of repetition, Elim finally awoke to watch Kelas heat up an entire packet for themself to eat, scouring through the bag with a spoon and scraping it repeatedly down the inner lining until every crumb was collected.  

"Are you well?" Elim asked, blinking at a performative slow pace, stretching his arms out in front of his chest.

"Very," said Kelas.  "Have you eaten?"

"Last night," Elim reported, inwardly delighted to be hovered over like this; it almost felt like Julian was with him.

"Your gel is arriving today on a transport ship.  We're going to pick it up after a residence-call."

Kelas kept the spoon in their mouth as they spoke, looking thoughtful and altogether too harmless for Elim to accuse.  Had Elim not been so well-trained, of course.

"What are you doing inside my personal effects?" he demanded, in a low and charming voice, which did not manage to put Kelas off in the slightest.

"You ran out of it last week, did you not?  And from what I was able to gather from the Bajoran nurse I spoke to, it should've been out a lot sooner than that."

"I can assure you, _my_ medication was treated with the same care and forethought you provide to your daily meals."

Kelas batted their lashes, fueling some kind of fire Elim was incapable of seeing clearly; they never did meet his gaze.

"You spoke of refilling it when you first arrived," Kelas said.

Elim was aware he was being contested by an equal, and found it enjoyable.  He was not genuinely upset by Kelas's intrusion, especially since he did need a refill and _had_ mentioned it, but he had not participated in a good argument in much too long.  Colonel Kira must have been the last one, he thought, because Julian had ceased indulging him years ago.

"And I have not brought it up since," Elim said.  "It was prescribed for a shuttle flight, a thing which I do not foresee myself enduring ever again."

"It was prescribed for generalized anxiety and convulsions," Kelas recited.  

Mental illnesses were not discussed so candidly amongst Cardassians, and often were not even addressed by physicians, so Elim sat back in surprise.  Gradually, he stood up from the shared cot and pulled the collar of his robe up over his neck, knowing Kelas valued modesty if not - apparently - patient privacy.  The two of them shared a _bed_ , for the Union's sake; Garak thought it was laughable.

"I thought you were interested in my safety?" Elim posed.  "In preserving it, not threatening it, I mean."

"I am.  I wrote to your Doctor Bashir as soon as I was able, to learn all I could."

"And you received a reply from a Bajoran nurse," Elim said defensively.  "I don't believe he is on the station at all."

"That doesn't matter to me as much as your well-being," Kelas admitted.  

Elim found them to be refreshingly forward, but also intentionally distracting from the main objective.  He realized this made perfect retroactive sense, when applied to the fact Kelas admitted to Medical Indiscretion against Tain all those years ago.  Elim had been alone with them - _him_ , then, as Tain insistently referred to them - in the interrogation room, and he finished swiftly and received a great deal of personalized praise.  It made him feel uneasy, now.

"Listen to me," Kelas continued, while Elim had turned and decided he should dress himself fully.  "Your father refused every prescription I ever wrote for him. He was paranoid, aggressive..."

"My father was a gardener, and a respectable man," Elim snapped, in vain.

"I was his _personal physician_ , Elim.  And I would have been a very poor one if I could not work out your relation."

"Forgive me if I cannot picture Enabran Tain submitting to a paternity test."

Shaking their head, Kelas dug their spoon into the bag again, making a soft crackling sound as it bent the plastifilm casing.  All too happily, Elim maintained the advantage, and spoke while their mouth was occupied with their breakfast.

"It seems to me like you're worried about your own well-being, Doctor," Elim said, "assuming I have all of these unspeakable ailments that might place you, once again, in danger."

"Please.  I wouldn't have allowed you anywhere near my establishment, in that case."

"You would feel much safer if I were sedated, I can tell."

"I have no desire to sedate you," Kelas said defiantly.  "I would love nothing more than to watch you return to your former strength, if not precise persuasion.  I don't believe you pose any danger to me, and hate the fact my words implied this."

"You do not think before you speak," Elim observed.  

"Not as much as I should.  And I'll tell you, you're right - a partial helping of anything doesn't do any good."

They finished their ration and deposited the bag into the synthesizer to be decomposed, likely to be repurposed into a syringe stem.  Dressed in his lab coat, Elim turned and watched, eager to see the source of the sound, even though he already knew it originated from the machinery.  According to the established routine, Kelas would be going to bed soon, and Elim would be making the rounds while most of the patients slept, recording their readings and conducting other trivial but vitally important tasks as assigned.  After they rested, barring any emergencies, they would go with Elim on residence visits, and on the occasional rescue mission. So, Elim collected his implements and took the daily paper Kelas prepared with room assignments and required readings, and went on his way.

"I'm glad you and I are seeing the same picture, Doctor," Elim said, in closing.

When he went to distribute meals and run his scans, a vision of Julian met with him inside the first patient's room, and remained with him throughout the day.  It spoke to him on occasion, most often to indicate symptoms Elim was meant to be observing and noting in each of the patients.

" _I'm glad_ ," Julian said, mocking Elim's earlier tone, "that you put more effort into these people than yourself."

"What's that supposed to mean, Doctor?"

"You called me 'Julian' last week," it pouted.

The vision was always choppy, disjointed, enough to make Elim question its validity.  He walked a narrow line between allowing himself the indulgence - pretending he did not really know any better - or scolding himself enough to make it dissipate.  It did not visit him terribly often - usually only when he managed to speak to Kelas for more than a minute - but he was always grateful when it came. In a way, it was better than the rest of his intrusive thoughts, and a small part of him kept clinging eagerly to the fact it might not be a thought at all.  It was hard to know for sure, because Elim did not _want_ to know for sure.

"I’m not going to use your name while we are working," muttered Elim.  “It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

"Oh, of course!" the vision chuckled to itself, "you were always _working_ on Deep Space Nine."

"You aren't here just to make me question myself, surely," Elim said, refusing to raise his voice into an inquiry.

"I'm here because my help is needed."

Together, they rounded the corner of a hallway, and Elim came to his final stop of the day.  He had adjusted to artificial lights and Federation calendars and Bajoran clocks on the station, and, as a result, was left awake during the day when his fellow Cardassians preferred to be asleep.  Elim excused himself to finish his work, and met Julian in the hall again afterward. Julian was leaning on the cart when Elim returned, its face looking youthful and eager and _vulgar_ , in Garak's mind, as he considered their surroundings.

"Are you all finished?" it asked, trailing its tongue temptingly along its lower lip.

Elim followed this progression with his eyes, much too intently, and then snapped to attention.

"Yes, no thanks to you," Elim said.  "And now I might distribute rations while I wait for Kelas to wake up, and then we will do a house visit."

"How does it make you feel," Julian teased, "to be on the bottom?"

"Excuse me?"

"You can do so much more than this, Garak.   _How does it make you feel_?"

Doing his best to ignore this, Elim took over the cart-handle, and pushed it along to the storage room, adjacent to the office he and Kelas shared as an entire house.  

"It must make you feel _wonderful_ ," it went on.

Elim had never hated its voice before.  He had listened to the real Julian list off his achievements and interests, but it had never disturbed him as deeply as this simple observation did, from the mouth of its falsified counterpart.

"It does no such thing," Elim argued.

"Doesn't it?  It seemed to me like you had your heart set on rushing down here, applying to the Civilian Relief Effort, trying to rebuild an entire planet because _you_ didn't meet _its_ standards."

"That's quite enough."

"This is a friendly debate," the Julian insisted, softening its voice enough for Elim to tolerate.  "Answer my question."

"You did not pose a question to me," Elim replied, indignantly.  "You accused me of being treasonous, but I've heard that before, thank you very much."

"Maybe I was unfair, but I thought you'd enjoy that."

Once inside the storeroom, the vision draped its arms over a pile of metal shipping crates, leaning its weight back and grinning slyly.

"What," Elim demanded, in a flat voice.

"You're finished working," it replied, "and you're about to call me by my name."

"Julian."

"Yes?" it said sweetly, comically.

Elim did not remember its lashes being so long in reality - oh, how that station had humanized his perceptions of beauty - nor its stance quite so wide.  Its chest seemed _soft_ , of all things, and Elim found himself drawn forward to touch it, setting his palm carefully against the place a Cardassian would have their _chula_ , a teardrop-shaped ridge like the _chufa_ on the forehead.  The _chufa_ was regarded as the mental center, and the _chula_ the emotional; it was not unlike a human indicating the location of their heart, to show fondness.

Feeling something, Elim pressed harder, trying to tap discreetly with his claws.  Julian grinned at this and shed its coat over its arms, and then its civilian medical tunic over its head.

"My Starfleet Identification," Julian said, blushing.

Elim was faced with a curved data rod on a chain, shrouded in metal for security.  When he reached for it, intending to open its contents on the Unit computer, his hand gripped around nothing.

But when he touched Julian, its skin was warm and pliant, and it did not do anything to defy him.  

"Didn't you want to do this years ago?" it asked, inviting Elim to move his hand down, down...

"That would have been incredibly unwise."

"Will you _ever_ answer my questions?"

While he had intentionally forced his mind elsewhere, Elim's hand had managed to find its way all the way down to Julian's knee.  Julian's lips were parted as it stared back at him, and Elim was hit all at once by the weight of years of attraction. Of course, he had just been debating with Kelas, learning the beautiful intricacies of their mind, longing for a past Julian denied him...

Even if this was not real - _because_ this was not real - Elim proceeded, hooking one arm around Julian's shoulder and pressing the other to its computer-chip- _chula_ , willing himself to feel something.  The vision of Julian mumbled something about how hot it was on Cardassia, especially within the thick smoke clouds in the City, and then it kissed Elim on the mouth.  

Elim lost track of the time he remained this way, allowing a hallucination to overpower him, forcing him to recline against the shipping crates as he submitted himself to kiss after yearning kiss.  He was whining softly, frustrated with himself, when Kelas signalled at the door and entered to collect him for their house-call.

“You do miss your previous physician very much…?” Kelas hesitantly observed the sight Elim presented.  

He had rushed to stand and admit Kelas to the store-room, calming his breathing and consciously keeping quiet; he was afraid he had said Julian’s name aloud, a word which would have been meaningless to anyone who heard it, except Kelas.

“Yes,” Elim quickly replied, “he had a masterful solution to packaging rations.”

“Did he,” said Kelas, flatly.

“Annoyingly efficient, among other things.  Shall we go?”

“I believe we shall.”

Kelas did a poor job of hiding the fact they were typing while the two of them walked along the paved route to the residence they were calling on.  Elim glanced over their shoulder often enough to assume the recipient, and did not threaten their trust by trying to read the message. It was easy enough to work out, and perhaps Kelas intended it that way: to give Elim something to do with his restless deduction skills.

Elim did not address the issue, because he had no need to write to Julian, himself, again. 


	3. 8.03 - Bar Tabs and Other Trivial Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian and Ezri go to a trivia contest at Quark's, where Quark is all too excited to open old wounds.

Over the course of that week, Julian received two more communiques from Kelas Parmak, arriving both at once, even though they were clearly written at different times.  One mentioned Elim’s original prescription, and the other was noticeably more optimistic. It seemed Elim was residing at the hospital under constant supervision, and able to help Kelas with orderly tasks.  In a fleeting moment of maturity, Julian was happy for him, that he seemed to be providing relief and assistance to his people, and that he was getting the round-the-clock care he needed; Julian knew this because Elim had been denying _his_ medical attention and psychological recommendations for years.  Then it lapsed into an unadulterated feeling of abandonment, and Julian knew he had been replaced by someone more effective, someone of Elim’s own age, species, and persuasion, who knew the best way to work with him.  

Reluctantly, Julian deemed his relationship with Elim a failure.  He charted all kinds of them, after all, and he just could not convince himself to label it a ‘friendship’ if he turned out to know _nothing_ about Elim in the end.  He did not expect Elim to come back… maybe he could go down to Cardassia…

“Sweetheart?” Ezri said softly.

Julian blinked at her, pointing at his chest to ensure he was the one being addressed.  They were out for their weekly dinner date, and he had not been paying sufficient attention.  Eager to remedy this, he looked down at the table for something they could discuss.

"Well, that ought to be interesting," Julian observed the double-sided holographic advertisement, glowing just above the center of their table.

Ezri squinted to read the fine print.  

"What's he thinking?" she asked, skimming over it again.

"Who, Quark?  What do you mean?"

Already, Julian had turned to consult his side of the screen for a menu; even though he had memorized the Klingon restaurant's traditional offerings, he was often pleasantly surprised by new, seasonal dishes.

"I mean, it looks like wants to lose to me.  Even more than tongo. Look, team trivia?"

"Are you saying you want to go?" Julian asked, tapping his menu to order them each a cup of _bahgol_.

"Yeah, don't you?  It's..." she confirmed with the hologram, "tonight, but not until 22:30."

"Sure, if you want to.  I've just, er, never been one for," he scrunched his brows as he found the perfect phrase, "scholastic competitions.  Especially those with prizes, or worse, publicity."

"Well, you either know an answer or you don't, it's not like darts or tennis."

"It kind of is," he said, bobbing his head from side to side.  "I've had just as much practice, maybe more."

"Then I definitely want to go.  Anyway, the only prizes are holosuite credits - I know you have a few, already - and 'clearing backlogged bar tabs.'  You don't even have one of those; you're his best customer."

Julian shrugged, but his smile remained amiable and utterly charmed.

"I'll assume that's a compliment," he said.  "And sure, why not? We'll go."

A server arrived with their teapot and cups on a tray, depositing the whole thing carefully, but loudly, between them.  Julian nodded to assure that was all they needed, for the time being, and the server departed.

"I'm looking forward to seeing Quark's selections for categories," Julian went on, pouring his tea.  "I'm sure they're absurd."

"I'm sure they are.  But, between us, I'd say we're pretty well-rounded."

"Yes, I'd say so," Julian agreed, consciously mistaking this balance for compatibility, and this activity for love.

When they finished their dinner, they meandered over to Quark’s Bar.  Each of them nursed a single drink until Quark inevitably bothered them about this and, as they originally hoped, signing up as a team for trivia.

Other teams arrived and sorted themselves into groups around tables, and while Ezri did not take much notice, Julian did.  He was realizing, at an uncomfortably quick speed, that he recognized very few of them. Civilians, Bajoran Militia, the occasional Starfleet officer, and he could not give any of their names.  Well, one. There was a Vulcan nurse in attendance who worked opposing shifts at the Infirmary, and Ezri noticed Julian watching him as he chose his seat.

“Some competition?” she teased, touching his arm.

“Nurse T’hir?  We’ll have to see, won’t we?  I don’t know him too well…”

They noticed Constable Ro passing through the establishment, but once she silently deemed it acceptable, she proceeded to the upper level of the bar, where Kira was waiting for her at a table.  With what could only be a sigh of relief, Quark wandered out from behind the bar and began the event with a loud refrain of music.

Quark approached and clapped Julian on the shoulder, and Julian could not tell how deeply the bitterness in his voice ran.  Or perhaps he was imagining it, in the first place, so he sat back with gritted teeth while Quark addressed them.

"Just the two of you, hmm?" Quark led, pulling them together in his arms.  "You can have up to five players on a team, you know.  No species requirements."

Julian snorted and tried to make it sound like laughter.

"That's fine, thank you," he said.

"Smart," Quark added.  "Less pockets to divide prizes between.  I assume the rest of your Federation friends would only insist on getting a fair share..."

Julian was left feeling uncomfortable, unable to express why.  He pleaded to Ezri with his eyes, furrowing his brow and nodding pointedly to Quark once he distracted himself with his padd for inputting orders.

"What can I get _the two of you_ tonight," Quark repeated, with fragile civility.  

"Fine, Quark," Ezri said to him, leaning her weight forward on the table.  "The two of us _and Dax_."

"The thought had hardly crossed my mind," Quark said. 

His voice trailed off and he began to count Dax's identities on individual segments of his fingers, so he had room to list their known occupations and hobbies in addition to their name.  He had hardly arrived at Audrid when Ezri shushed him. Tersely, Julian responded on her behalf.

"Then you'd better disqualify us now."

"Nonsense," said Quark.  "I'd like to see _the two of you_ do quite well."

"He has a pool going against us," Ezri surmised, watching Quark closely.

"Now that wouldn't be _fair_ ," Quark said, touching his chest in mock offense.  "But just in _case_ , I'd like to... place a few drinks at your table... before a certain friend of mine shows up to watch."

"Your friend doesn't know about you watering down your brandy, then?" Julian observed, and Ezri grinned at him, suppressing laughter.

"A _few_ drinks," Ezri repeated, in an insistent tone similar to Quark's, " _please_."

They sat and shared the joke until Quark returned to distribute their drinks.  Then, he addressed the assembled teams with the house rules, and provided each a console for answering.  Julian blinked at the screen, inadvertently reading the whole of the fine print in several seconds. He had not taken a test like this in years, and he had certainly never done it for _fun_.

He felt as though he was caught between opposing poles, forced away from everyone around him, pushed closer only to Ezri.  In that case, he could hover at a safe and irritating distance, or he could roll over and unite himself with her completely.

At their table-side, Quark poured Julian's drink directly from the bottle, and Julian took an experimental sip of it.  Approvingly, he swallowed and exhaled sharply, and then made up his mind.

"You can leave that here," Julian instructed.  "Put it on my tab."

He immersed himself fully in the questions, and in Ezri.  They huddled close together over their answer screen, whispering and chattering, getting lost in their own respective memories.   _The two of them_ shared the un-watered-down brandy, and Julian found its effect pleasant, more so than he was accustomed to, but still easily less than he could tolerate.  Of course, it took a great deal to impact his mind in any meaningful way, but sometimes he sought it out and succumbed to it willingly, and even though the inner mechanics were different, the outward appearance was very much the same.

Throughout the categories and in between Quark's long-winded explanations and suddenly-relevant product advertisements, Julian sipped his brandy - enough to make Quark's anonymous friend feel confident in betting against him, sure - but remained on edge.  One moment, he was nudging Ezri's elbow and batting his lashes at her, and the next he was grumbling about Quark's taste in literature.

The category, specifically, was touted as 'Alien Literature' - as in non-Ferengi - and it contained three pieces of erotica Julian had never heard of, but which Ezri dismissed with a hand-wave.

"The last two were about Klingon women," Ezri explained, leaning close to Julian's ear to console him, "but he didn't read the original text.  Bad translations, too. Hard to pinpoint."

"Well, reading them in the original Klingon would've just been giving it away," Julian agreed, monotone.

Ezri's hand was surprisingly cooperative when she wrote down the titles, in Klingon calligraphy, on their answer screen.  Julian watched, feeling proud one moment and quite vacant the next.

"Are you okay?" Ezri asked him.

Before he could answer, or even begin to gauge exactly what kind of expression he was making, Quark read off the next question and tried, in vain, to make eye contact with Julian.  

"In _Continent Divided_ ," Quark was saying, "one faction leader comes to a clandestine agreement with his opponent, in order to turn over command of his constituents.  What was his name?"

"That's an enigma tale," Julian said, feeling genuinely pleased for the first time all night. 

Ezri squeezed at his forearm encouragingly, and passed him the stylus.

"It was on Garak's required reading list, wasn't it?" she said, more casually than Julian liked.

"Hmm?  Yes. The answer's _Te'eren_ , by the way."

"Must've been after Tobin's time," Ezri decided.

"Well, Tobin was hardly an expert in the finer points of Cardassian literature.  Just because he met a single exiled poet!" Julian said.

Suddenly, Julian felt defensive.  If Ezri could garner knowledge and affection from past lives, why couldn't he?

"Garak said it was one of the only post-revival works worth reading," Julian went on, refusing to be interrupted.  "Te'eren essentially runs his constituency into the ground in order to secure himself a higher position in the Detapa Council.  Garak said it reminded him of Gul Dukat, if Gul Dukat were smarter and _-_ believe it or not - _less_ self-absorbed than the character.  In the second act, we learn he--"

"Hang on," said Ezri, pointing forward.  

Quark stood and signaled the end of the round with a buzzer, a sound which also sent out two lines of his waitresses, the first to collect answer screens and the second to insistently take orders.  Julian held onto his glass and the bottle Quark had left, while Ezri ordered them a plate of _hasperat_ , mostly for the young Dabo Girl's benefit.

Their answers for the first four questions - including the two on Klingons - were correct, but then Quark paused and clicked his tongue when he reached their fifth response.  

"I'm sorry, Doctor," Quark said, overlaying their padd screen with his answer key and returning it to their table.  "I didn't expect you to let me down on that one."

Julian blinked at him, then at the padd, and scoffed.

"No, I'm sorry," Julian said, turning it back in Quark's direction, "but that's at _least_ worth half credit.  Makal and Te'eren are the _same man_.  It's hardly fair if you're going to count one name over the other."

"Now, I've never read the book, Doctor," Quark responded innocently, "but in that case, why wouldn't you write both?"

"Because I _have_ read the book, and while he goes by the _alias_ of Makal in the first act, it's an enigma tale!  You're meant to _assume_ he's guilty of something, and by the end of the third act, you learn it was lying about his identity in order to secure a promotion, and that his name was Te'eren all along."

"I've never known a Cardassian to lie about his legal name," Quark said, with an edge Julian found much too sharp.

"I'll go get my copy - I have it on a data-rod - and you can read it over yourself if you like."

" _Julian_ ," Ezri pleaded, weakly.

"Doctor," Quark laughed, holding up his hand, "that really won't be necessary.  Your score has already been adjusted. But I wouldn't worry if I were you... the _two of you_ are still parsecs ahead."

Before he could ask Quark if he meant to call Elim Garak a liar, he realized that would not have exactly helped his case, so he leaned back and stifled the anger.

"I haven't read it either, but _I_ believe you," Ezri said quietly, touching his arm again.

He withdrew and scowled.  It was not _fair_ for him to make insinuations like that against Elim, when he was not even present to defend himself.  Julian felt compelled to make Quark see this in the same light.

"It's not good business, Quark," he said sternly.  "What if you've been giving all of us wrong answers, all night long?"

" _Or_ ," Quark said, absolving himself and returning to his place behind the bar, "your cherished lunch companion gave _you_ a wrong answer, Doctor.  Surely I'm not the first to let you in on his true nature...?"

Julian gripped the rim of the table tightly, as he considered standing and loudly forfeiting and returning to his cabin for the night.  But he was here with Ezri, because she _wanted_ to come, and it was not her fault that Elim abandoned him, months ago.  Neither of them wanted _that_.  And, really, it was in his best interest not to draw too much attention to himself, especially if that attention was negative.  

He stayed with Ezri at the table for the rest of the game, sharing their dinner and focusing harder on the questions.  When Quark announced the winning score - theirs, in fact - Julian did not take kindly to his offhand comment about it being 'just a simple mistake.'  

"It happens to the best of us, Doctor," Quark concluded.  "We'll see you back here tomorrow about that program. Great job, you two."

Julian did not allow Quark to give him any congratulatory touches - not on his back, shoulder, or anywhere.  Only after he had calmed down and rounded the corner to the habitat ring did he allow Ezri to do so. Then he apologized profusely and invited her hands in closer, clasping them around his own arm as they continued.

"I feel like I should apologize," Ezri offered.  

Julian disagreed by shrugging.

"No, I mean it," Ezri continued.  "I should've expected Quark to play dirty like that."

"Dirty?"

"He clearly wanted to get you worked up about Garak."

" _Clearly_?"  Julian said, hoping to earn an explanation.

"Do you... want to go to my quarters?" Ezri asked, gesturing toward the number-plate on the door they were walking past; they had passed Julian's already, without him noticing.

"Sure.  Fine. Sorry," he said, under the impression he was imposing a night of work on Ezri.

Respectfully, she nodded, and waited until they were inside her cabin to rekindle their discussion.  Julian was glancing aimlessly between the boxes of gifts Ezri had received from Dax's past hosts, and when she cleared her throat, he quickly realized that was the point.  

"I think he's still upset about Jadzia, in some way," Ezri explained, leading Julian to the couch and inviting him to make himself comfortable.  "And if I know anything about Ferengi, it's that they like their latinum high and their revenge even."

"Revenge..." Julian said, no closer to understanding.  "But he and Jadzia... Jadzia and _I_ \--"

"Jadzia was really his only _friend_ on the station.  And I guess he saw you and Garak in the same way.  I mean, of course he did; you two spent enough time in there together."

"I spent a _lot longer_ there with Miles," he said, defensively.

Ezri shrugged.

"Maybe that was his original plan.  He _did_ have that question about stem-bolts in the first round."

Julian felt agitated all over again, about the possibility Quark was considering Elim, of all individuals, a _backup plan_.   

"Listen, Julian," Ezri said softly, to recall his attention, "he isn't letting go of Jadzia as well as you are--"

"It's _not about Jadzia_ ," Julian insisted, growling through his teeth.

"--It's about Garak," Ezri supplied.

Julian crossed his arms, then his legs, and slouched backward, trying to distance himself from the topic.  

"It's _hard_ ," Ezri said reassuringly.  "And that wound is still _open_ , and I think that's what's frustrating you."

"I'm sorry to make you analyze me, like this," Julian said, because he wanted her to stop.

"Maybe you should write to him," she suggested.  

"I'll think about it."

"You aren't making it any easier for either of you," she said.  "It's just like Dax and all its past hosts; Garak left and you weren't ready for the relationship to end.  I know you need time to adjust to changes like that, Julian, maybe more than average."

"I don't really want to talk about this right now, I'm sorry."

He still had not showed her any of Elim's letters, and had no intention of doing so, either.  

"Okay," she said, standing and getting herself a glass of water from the replicator.  

When she turned around again, he was sitting in the same spot, but had slackened his shoulders somewhat.  She looked at him inquisitively before sitting down beside him, and then again before holding his hand.

"Do you want to spend the night with me?"

"I'm sorry, I'm really not in the mood--"

"Oh, no, _I'm_ sorry.  Standard is the only language I know with a double meaning, there.  You look like you could use the company."

Julian decided that was an accurate appraisal, and removed the outer layers of his uniform before joining her in her bed.  On the bedside table nearest the corner, Ezri placed the glass of water, and declared it 'his.' Anyway, his contraceptive series was still on the table from the last time he had spent the night, under decidedly different circumstances.  He gave it a bemused look, but did not reach out for it, not even to tuck it into the drawer.

Ezri kept the lights low and the compartment humid, and she opened her arms for him to nestle into.  He felt ridiculous.

But then Dax glowed for him, and he felt better.  

"Thank you for... all of this," Julian said, in a small voice, his lips brushing the top of Ezri's shoulder.  "I really do enjoy spending time with… _the two of you_."

"So do I."

***

The following morning, Julian was called out of bed early to attend to an Engineering ensign's torn ligament.  Ezri rolled over and mumbled his name and 'goodbye' into a kiss, and he wondered how much of this was picked up by his comm badge, as the poor nurse had to repeatedly signal for him.  She had probably tried to reach him at his own cabin, first, and he was not looking forward to explaining himself.

He was fairly sure the rest of his staff knew the situation.  Even those who were newly transferred after the war had met or at least heard about Ezri by now.  It was not an _unusual_ arrangement, and there was no reason for it to bother him, but he could not work out why he was suddenly feeling defensive.

"It's perfectly alright, Ensign," he said, trying to calm the young woman on his biobed.  "I've had an ACL grafting myself; I used to play tennis..."

Ensign Tellez nodded and muttered something about misjudging a landing inside one of the jeffries tubes during her overnight shift.  Julian assured her the procedure and the first stage of physical therapy could be completed in only a few hours, and then he prepared her anesthetic.  She looked so young, he thought when he administered the hypospray, so young and afraid of him. Her lip trembled as she fell asleep, and he waited until her breathing had stabilized to begin arranging his equipment.  There was nothing else he could do.

He had to focus on his patient, now.  But it was a routine operation, perfected over centuries, and every time Ensign Tellez flinched in her sleep when he tapped her patella, his mind was jolted to a new subject, a new track to circle until it exhausted itself.

It took him a long while to realize his patient was younger than he was.  The weight of seven years crashed down on him all at once, and he realized he was one of very few people left on the station from when Starfleet first arrived and established its presence.  Time had passed and people had left him, and he had left himself. As he held the autosuture in place, he accepted that he was no longer young and naive - war had weathered him, he had been forced to share a history he detested, he had traded away all of his important facets for ones he no longer recognized.  The friends who used to keep him steady had, themselves, floated away, and he was left tethered to nothing.

Today was going to be a quiet day, he promised himself, based on no practical reasoning at all.

When he was finished with the surgery, he left Ensign Tellez in the care of a nurse while she gradually awoke.  In the personnel directory, he found a physical therapist on shift, and requested they come to take the case over.  He felt very strange: a surgeon outnumbered by all manner of therapists, helplessly watching as the adventure he began years ago writhed and dissolved into tragedy.  There was still adventure on Cardassia, he thought, and then, before he could picture Elim's face, he registered that he was being spoken to.

"Hmm?"

"Should I call for you at Counselor Dax's quarters?" the nurse confirmed with him, as he turned to leave.

With his back to her, he allowed himself to scowl.  He felt trapped in a box, a dark, thick-walled one which did not allow him to identify his surroundings by sight nor sound.

"Yes," he said, through his teeth.  "Yes, you should, absolutely. Don't hesitate; I'm... I'm not doing anything important, don't worry about interrupting.  Um, thank you, yes."

Wringing his hands, he left the Infirmary and went to check in at Ops, eager to keep himself confined.  On days he arrived voluntarily, Colonel Kira rarely bothered him, and left him to drift between the Science and Engineering stations without a word.  The pattern depended on whom he was missing more: Jadzia or Miles. Even though he knew he could go without question into Ezri's quarters at this very moment, he gravitated to Jadzia's former station, and resigned himself to it.  He stared down at incoming neutrino readings and the station's oxygen levels and the local time on Bajor and dozens of other things that did not hold his attention. Ezri was probably with a patient, anyway, he thought; it was not as though he had a family at home waiting for him.

The two of them agreed not to dwell on Jadzia, but there were days when Julian could not help himself.  They would sit and talk, and he would agree to the rational conclusion that she was _gone_ , but Dax was healthy and happy to be near him.  The situation felt divorced from reality, even though he _knew_ it was not.  Every time he was with Ezri, he could see Dax, moving and glowing to reassure him of its presence.  

Julian missed every chance he had with Jadzia, and while he had come to terms with that, too, years ago, the wound reopened when he sat at her workstation and reflected.  Could he have tried any harder? In the same way, he lost his chance to leave Deep Space Nine. Surely he could have gone under any kind of cover. He could have found a new assignment, he could have vacationed with the O'Briens and never returned, he could have retired his commission and accepted diplomatic posts on Vulcan, Bajor, Cardassia...

He could have gone with Elim, and even when he read over Elim's letter and closing plea for his company, he could not help but feel like his mind was already made up, and could not be altered.  What kind of man would he be then, he prompted himself, if he regretted _every single one_ of his decisions?

At Ezri's cabin, the door opened to admit him before he could tap the chime.  

"Hey!" Ezri stepped in from the kitchen to greet him, holding one of Tobin's plates between a towel-covered hand.  "How was the surgery, is she okay?"

"Fine, and fine," he said.  "Have you... been busy?"

She returned to the kitchen to set the plate aside, before drying her hands on the towel and draping it over a dining chair.

"Two sessions in my office, lunch, then a house-call."

"Oh," said Julian.  "Is this, er... is this lunch, or the house-call?"

"Just a late lunch," she replied.  "Why?"

She gathered up Tobin's plate, then the matching cup and saucer, and brought them to the glass case she had installed purely to display them.  Julian's eyes were trained on her, bright and alert, and he only softened his gaze when she caught him looking.

" _Hmm_?" she hummed, in the charming, easily-forgivable way he usually did.  

Julian told himself, then and there, that he could be a _sweetheart_.  He could be a very good one, the _best_ , if it would keep Ezri there beside him.

"I love you," he said.

What he failed to articulate was the specific way in which he loved her relation to the past.  She held onto parts of it gracefully, picking and choosing them, curating them to bring along into the unknown.  In comparison, he felt as though he stumbled and broke the important pieces of his, after refusing to cut ties and then promptly tripping himself over them.  Boxes full of precious memories, toppled and ruined, unable to be used again.

Ezri responded with the same affirmation, and a grin Julian got lost in.

"I love you, too."

"We should... no, it might be too soon, I think..."

"What?" she began, knowingly.

"What if you moved into a larger cabin," he asked, gesturing reverently at her cabinets of mementos, and continuing quietly after her head was turned, "and I... moved there with you."

Maybe he had learned how to compromise, after all this time.  Ezri was here, and she made him happy, and he was not interested in going anywhere further than the Family-Apportioned cabins down the hall.  This made him feel better, _calmer_...

Ezri came up to him and held his hands, both at once, clasping them together with hers on the outsides.  

"Don't let it go to your head, but I think that's one of your best ideas yet."

He smiled brightly, then affably shook his head, determined to remain as humble as Ezri requested.  Slowly, her hands drifted up to his shoulders, dusting the quilting and then supporting her weight, so she could lean in to kiss him.

“You look like you’re feeling much better, today,” she observed.

“Yes, I am.”

“That’s been on your mind for awhile, huh?”

Julian swallowed and then nodded mutely, because the idea had barely crossed his mind at all.  And, when it had, it arrived only to offer distraction.

“It has,” he mumbled; he wanted more distractions.

When he looked down at her, his gaze was soft and his eyelids were heavy, and she cupped his cheek in her hand.

“Mmm, you want to?” he asked.

Between them, Dax began buzzing faintly, and Julian pulled Ezri closer, so he could feel the reverberations over his stomach.  Ezri was pursing her lips, conveniently able to kiss him again while she made her decision.

She nodded, and made no further move to control the situation.  Usually, Julian liked his actions to be dictated, or at the very least _requested_ , but not today.  He was feeling confident enough, now, indulging in this persona, and knowing Ezri was _with_ him, willingly at his side.  He had a _home_ again.

Ezri’s quarters were cluttered, crowded with boxes from many of Dax’s previous relations, but Julian knew how to maneuver between them.  He took her hand to lead her to the bedroom, and when he saw the glass of water and wheel of tablets on the bedside table, _his_ bedside table, he beamed.

Then he turned on the speakers below the bed, and dimmed the cabin lights, and sat down with her.  

“Am I going to make you late for your house call?”

“If I’m lucky.”

Dax was glowing when she undressed, light pulsing softly through Ezri’s belly.  Julian felt as though he was hypnotized by the two of them, like they were each one weighted side of a swinging pendulum, working perfectly in time.  He rubbed and pinched Dax with his hand while Ezri pulled herself up at his shoulder and kissed his neck. With their bodies in close contact again, Dax warmed him and aroused him, and it took all of his conviction not to comment on how fascinating this was, afraid of sounding like a student and not an active participant.  They had done this _before_ , but the impersonal fascination remained. 

But he did love Ezri.  She was beautiful and compassionate and opinionated - traits he liked to think he shared, and improved on in front of such a mirror - and she was fun to be around.

“We should stop by Quark’s, later,” he mused.  “Before our free holoprogram code conveniently expires.”

The music continued softly as he held her cheek close to his, nuzzling and kissing, giggling only after she did.

“What?” he asked.

“I think I’d better pick the program, this time.  That’s all.”

With his lips, he traced her spots, moving down from her neck to the inward flares at her chest, and lower still, where the pattern repeated at her waist.  Triangles of thicker spots framed her navel, and when Julian kissed here, Dax vibrated at a high frequency, one he could hear when he pressed his ear close.  



	4. 8.04 - No Room to Recover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elim suffers a poorly-timed hallucination, as buildings collapse on Cardassia. Julian is there to help, but not in the way Elim needs.

After another month of intermittent hallucinations and electricity at the medical Unit, Elim broke under the tedious pressure, and made a plea to Kelas one afternoon.

Both of them were awake, due to news of a collapsed building in Lorikal sector, when Elim addressed one of his two problems.

Kelas was ending a holo-comm with the supervising physician in Lorikal sector, regretfully informing her that they had no beds to loan the survivors.

"We are able to synthesize medication once a week, if we're lucky," Kelas admitted sourly.  "We have some stores of the basics, of course, and if you need them you are welcome to them, but I'm afraid I will not have any recovery rooms open until... I cannot even say.  I'm profoundly sorry."

Elim glanced over, his eyes bright and attentive.  Kelas could not help glancing into them as they caught the flickering light, but then Kelas quickly looked the other way and turned off their communicator screen.

"I must get something from the shed," Elim said, vaguely enough.

"Hmm?"

Kelas rubbed their temples and tugged their hair back more tightly, securing it by knotting one long strand of it around all the rest.  Fascinated, Elim watched.

"The shed on Tain's property," Elim continued.  "I must get something from there. As soon as possible."

"What sort of something?"

Elim made the choice to be honest, to see how it would reward him.

"Solar cells," said Elim.  "I have my own collection of them, and I'm sure Tain's delusional preoccupation with sabotage means there are more to be found in the house.

"I never said he was delusional," Kelas teased.  "But you are probably right, in any case. We should leave right away."

"He did often swear to seeing intruders, even when the detection fields were silent," Elim said, in reference not to Tain, but to himself.

"I don't doubt that," Kelas pressed.  "Shall we go?"

"Oh, I didn't mean to trouble you with it.  If I have your permission, I can go and take care of it today."

"Permission?  Hmm, of course, to do something _good_ for someone else.  Is that it?"

Elim faltered.  While he did not want to open himself to any further explanations if they went inside the household - there were several rooms he had hoped to avoid entirely - he found Kelas a refreshing and reassuring presence, both at the same time.  That was his decision, then.

"Something like that," he said, working to keep his voice from buckling.

So Kelas stood and gathered enough water for the journey, and then opened the tiny storage compartment they used for their personal effects, sliding a drawer out of the wall and feeling around inside it.  Soon, they removed two scarves of vastly different colors - one a muted shade of maroon, and the other a pattern of bright orange stripes - and offered Elim first choice.

Overwhelmed by even the simplest decency, Elim waved one hand to decline, and allowed Kelas to choose the orange one for him, leaning in close to drape it over his knee.  Both of them knew how cloudy the air had become, recently, as it wafted in through cracks in their tent compound. The recent collapse in their neighboring sector had certainly not improved breathing or seeing conditions.  As it was, their filtration system was operating constantly, and even then, it would occasionally churn out a stream of smoke into the office. To postpone affliction, Kelas would sometimes wear a scarf in conjunction with their surgical mask; the use of scarves in elaborate hairstyles had largely faded out of fashion in their lifetime, but it used to be practiced by Cardassian women, primarily.

"Oh, that's clever," Elim observed, picking at the frayed tethers on one end of his scarf. 

"Weren't you claiming to be a tailor?" Kelas said incredulously.

"I haven't seen nearly enough scarves in the last decade," Elim said, looping it around his neck, blinking innocently.

With some effort, Kelas knelt in front of him, bundled both ends of the scarf together in their hands, and brought it up to Elim's face, draping it loosely in front of his mouth.  Then they secured the ends at the back of Elim's head, feeling carefully for his orbital ridges through his hair so they could not become caught.

When they were finished, they slipped their fingers out gracefully, and Elim nodded his thanks.  

Both of them were silent for some time, as they departed from the tent and began the walk out of the City Center.  Elim was giving a dangerous amount of thought to Kelas's kind gesture, approaching it from dozens of different motivations.  His answer was the same to most of these, and after he took a swig of water to clear his head, he found the same compulsion in place - the compulsion to speak and be shot down.  But he loved Kelas's debates, too, like the hopeless cause he was.

"I suppose that will do, as far as initiative gestures go," Elim said casually.

" _Do_?" said Kelas.

"Do," Elim repeated, "to initiate courtship."

Kelas stopped where they were, and shook their head.

"That was _absolutely_ not my intention," they said.

"No?  Forgive me," Elim touched his chest humbly, "it seems the rituals have changed since my adolescence."

Kelas rolled their eyes and tightened their scarf, and then quickened their footsteps.

"It was a practical measure for a walk like this," they explained.

"So it would be wrong of me to consider it, also, an Offering of Care, and a Display of Grooming?"

"My _word_ , your sources are outdated."

"A casualty of exile," Elim said flippantly, about to snag Kelas in a very intentional trap.  "What would an individual of your standing consider _appropriate_ , when one wishes to Nest?"

" _Nest_?  Mercy.  Fine, yes.  If you're wishing to _nest_ , either of those would be appropriate terms to call my fixing a mask-scarf for you.  But then it sounds like the intention is yours, and not mine."

"Oh, you are _superb_ ," Elim said, in spite of himself.  "I've always thought so."

Kelas furrowed their brow-ridges and sped up again, ignoring the creaking protests of their abused bones.  Rather than catch up to them, Elim chuckled to himself and watched as the distance grew.

"I have!" he called out, after a while, hoping to fluster Kelas enough to slow them down again.

"Keep your voice down," Kelas sniped, over their shoulder.  

"Oh, State forbid someone _hear_ us."

At this point, Kelas stopped and waited for Elim to approach them, and then they continued along together.  

"The State did once, yes," Kelas said.

"What?"

They were quiet as Elim tried to calculate their expression through the scarf, settling instead on quiet and fidgety body-language, but Elim’s stare wore the words out of them, in the end.

"I don't particularly want to discuss it."

"Then why did you say--"

"I did not _think_.  That's why."

"Well," said Elim, voice soft rather than triumphant.  "That cannot be helped, can it?"

"I've no wish to rush into a courtship with you.  Let me be perfectly clear about that."

Elim fondly recalled the time they had spent living together already, and reminded himself it was all precautionary.  But then, the fact it was for Elim's well-being and betterment did little to deter the lingering attraction. He could call himself hopeless a hundred times and it would not have made any difference.

"The fault is my own," Elim said.  "I'm truly sorry for misconstruing your actions."

"And I'm terribly sorry about that too, Garak," Kelas said, gently.  "That you would see a favor, a simple decency, as something much more intimate."

"Is that an insult?  That's quite good."

"It was an expression of profound sadness," Kelas corrected.

" _Now_ you're debating for the sake of it."

"Really, I am trying to ensure the health of one of my subordinates."

That was sufficiently romantic, as far as Elim was concerned, but he did not address it.

"I'll try to preserve your decency," Elim said, instead.  

Then he gestured to the perimeter fencing that surrounded Tain's household, as the property came into view through the thick dust.  

"You're welcome to wait for me outside," Elim offered.

The scowl Kelas made was visible even through their scarf, wrinkling the sides of it and pulling it taut.  Despite this, they agreed, and went to sift through the shed at Elim's suggestion, while he went into the house.

It was as he remembered: stuffed with ash and dust, reeking of blood, dark and cold.  He tried the main computer first, and found it partially operational, and then the industrial replicator, to the same effect.  If he could find enough items to reclaim, he was fairly confident he could make them an improved set of solar cells. That, or he could synthesize medication directly.  He would defer to Kelas, on that, but only if he was confident enough beforehand.

Cautiously, he approached the stairs to the subterranean floor.  He had no intention of unlocking any of the doors, and forced himself to explore the open crawlspace for anything that may have been left behind.  Food, communication devices, phasers... he did not remember anything there, and indeed did not find anything. He did not know what possessed him to look, either, if not a desperate craving for distraction.

When he ascended the stairs again, shivering and drawing his arms close in front of his chest, he heard a faint voice.  Panicking, he turned to the basement. He felt sick, and clawed at his wrist in vain; there was no gel to calm him. What if someone inside was alive, and needed--?

"No," the voice said, more clearly.  "Over here."

Elim swiveled his head and saw Julian, his own privately-imagined version, offering out a case in its arms.  It was in one of Tain's many offices, where he used to meet with clients of the Order.

"Just the batteries - right? - and you'll be on your way?" it asked, nodding down to the box it held.

Elim blinked and stood silently.  How _dare_ Julian show up and then ask _him_ to leave, just like that?

"Would've saved us a lot of trouble if you'd said all that sooner," Julian continued, somewhat sarcastically.

"All of what," Elim said flatly, unconvincingly.

"All that Cardassian _nonsense_ about courtship.  You could've said that to me five years ago, or more if you wanted."

"True.  I could've, if I had _any_ interest in acting out this preposterous scenario you're imagining."

Elim snatched the case out of its hands and opened it, finding cells inside.  From what he could tell, they were intact, and while he wanted to deride Tain's predictability, it was Julian's thoughtfulness that won out in the end.

"Oh, I'm not imagining it," Julian said snidely.

" _I_ am," Elim said, embarrassed.  

"No, Garak.  What you're feeling is _real._ And perfectly understandable, given the circumstances."

"Which are?"

Julian shook its head and invited Elim forward, leading his hands to its chest.

"I'd tell you to take your time, but that hasn't worked well, historically, has it?" Julian asked, pursing its lips.

As it had done weeks ago in the storeroom, it guided Elim into a kiss, soft at first, but then increasing in harshness.  Elim's hands were caught in the warmth of Julian's skin, caressing it and clinging tightly, desperately. When Julian reached between them to guide his hands, he did not make any movement to stop their progression.  He found himself groping foreign flesh, mumbling softly as Julian gave him direction and quiet praise.

He had never seen Julian undressed - not _entirely_ \- and he had even tried to curtail his thoughts on the subject.  As Julian guided him onward, nuzzling him encouragingly, he averted his eyes, but continued to do all he was told.  Julian leaned back against the wall and pulled Elim closer.

Their chests were flush together - Julian’s was hot and smooth - and their gazes met.  Julian folded in its lip and nibbled at it, answering none of Elim’s questions as it pressed his hand to its taut stomach.

Elim did not delude himself into imagining any part of its body with scaling or ridging.

“Go ahead,” Julian whispered.

Julian held him close, digging into the fabric at his shoulder, mumbling and grunting as Elim continued to explore.  He was so overwhelmed, _elated_ , he lost himself in Julian’s gaze; he could not see anything.  

When Kelas entered the house, expressing concern about Elim's tardiness, Elim was alone in the basement, laying on his back beneath a cloud of smoke.

***

Elim awoke in the shed, muttering curses to himself, glancing around frantically.

Kelas was hovering over him, patting a water-soaked hand gently over Elim's scarf before lowering it, asking Elim if he could recall what happened.  

"I was... giving a message to Doctor Bashir," Elim said carefully.

Kelas tutted their tongue.

"Well.  Whatever device you were using, I'd call it thoroughly burnt, by now."

"Did you see the cells?" Elim asked.

Then he noticed the scarf, wet and sagging between his lips when he opened them to speak, and he gagged and panicked.  Kelas touched his shoulder to calm him, and slowly reached to untie the knot they had made at the back of Elim's head.

"I'd open a window for you, but the dust is formidable, tonight.  And yes, thank you, Garak, I did see the cells."

Elim settled back on the cot, still messily arranged from the last time he had slept in it, months prior.  It, too, had collected some dust and cobwebs, but was otherwise comfortable. As he turned to rest on one arm, Kelas fussed over him, making sure he had not injured himself when he fell.  Elim wanted to ask if Julian had been seen there, but clearly he had been alone in the room when Kelas arrived to resuscitate him, after however long it had been. His mind was muddled, still.

"There, now," Kelas said softly.  "We're not needed at the Unit for some time, yet."

They unzipped their current pouch of water and held it forward to Elim's lips, helping him recline so he could drink from it.  When they decided Elim had taken enough, they withdrew, and then set to checking his vitals, after opening up their ever-present medical kit.  They held the scanner to Elim's heart, then to his wrist, then ran it along his forearm. Elim smiled up at him, dumbly.

"This is a more appropriate initiative gesture, you're _quite_ right," Elim said.

"Garak, right now you are my patient."

Kelas was not ordinarily one to address him by name; he must have been quite dazed, in order for Kelas to feel it necessary to keep his attention.  But the sentence had a sweet sound to it, a familiar one, and Elim gave a pleasant sigh, like he might otherwise do around a particularly good bite of dessert.  

"I welcome you to call me 'Elim,'" he said, cordially enough to appease whatever respect Kelas had for tradition; it could not have been much, and Elim hoped to envelope it entirely.

"Do you?"

"Yes, Doctor, I do.  We are in private, and I consider us past mere acquaintanceship by now.  Don't you?"

"I regret to say I do, also."

"I seem to recall you _inviting_ me into your closest circle, for my own safety."

"Yes," Kelas said, giving a knowing smile.

"Something you would do for all of your patients, I'm sure."

"How odd, that you would debate the individual who is holding a dial to your wrist."

Kelas tightened the instrument in question, stopping just as Elim noticed it, reciting his pulse as the readings appeared.  The pressure there reminded him vaguely of the gel he was meant to be using to calm himself, and it had almost the same effect.

"I was 'Garak' to another man," Elim explained, feeling calmed, "and 'Lubak' to one before that, and I would like a change."

"I am not prepared to be 'another man' to you."

Elim grinned.

"I thought _I_ was dishonest."

"Legendarily.  Infamously," replied Kelas.  "But I take it on good authority that it is best to match oneself to an equal."

Elim squirmed, squeezing his affected wrist inside his other hand the moment Kelas freed him.  He was not entirely sure this was reality, but of course pinching himself did not have any effect.  His arm was left numb, anyway.

"I feel more than well enough to walk," Elim said.

After Kelas was satisfied that this was true, they insisted on reapplying Elim's headscarf, so the two of them could make progress through the thick smoke outside.  Elim surveyed what he could of the house through the daylight and its filter of dust; whatever fire had started inside had been detected by the containment fields. Part of him wished the entire house had burned.  All of it, and everything inside. Then he would have no other excuse to return to it, aside from sentiment, and that would be for the best.

Disgusted at this, he made an effort to catch up to Kelas, as they opened the property gate and gestured forth.  Elim was happy to precede them on the walk back to Cardassia City, because he knew it would help obscure his expressions.  More than the scarf did, already. Elim felt his resolve and self-control had been declining recently, as he came in increased contact with other Cardassians.  It was embarrassing; he had a feeling Kelas saw it the opposite way.

Perhaps that could be comfort enough, Elim thought, to know he was still delivering believable contradictions.

"The Akari block looks about the same, wouldn't you say?" Kelas asked, nudging Elim's arm to get his attention.

Elim turned his head to the side, taking in the sight of the apartment block in question.  This was not the most affluent neighborhood - many of the small flats housed tradesmen employed by the nobles and politicians of the prestigious districts nearby - but Elim always remembered it being tidy in his youth.  Clean and neatly apportioned, with flowers growing in boxes on almost every window, quite satisfying to look at. Now, it had suffered a structural collapse, and the two sides of it sat precariously, as if between a fault-line, spattering dust down on everything nearby.  Elim coughed into his veil.

"It was _supposed_ to be one of the last for our Unit to take on," Kelas explained.  "I can't postpone it any longer."

"Do you think anyone is inside?" Elim asked, controlling his breath over the very thought.

Kelas shrugged, and reached for Elim's arm, directing him further away from the ruins.

"No, that's the trouble.  Not according to registrations, anyway.  They had to go north, and I'm sure their Center is not any better off."

"But, naturally, you wanted them all for yourself."

"I'm being serious, _Elim_ ," Kelas said.  "I don't think it's wise for us to be dividing ourselves, right now.  I would greatly prefer a single Center to take new registrations, and to distribute resources from there."

"You _are_ a radical.  I find it charming."

“Turn me over to the authorities.”

Elim chuckled fondly at that.  Aside from the other Unit leaders, Kelas essentially _was_ the authority.  But Elim would consider a doctor's word over that of a record clerk any day, and that made him a bit of a radical too.

"I wonder what that dear friend of yours might be able to do about _that_ ," Kelas said, making a vague gesture at the ruined building as they passed it.

"Doctor Bashir?"

"You don't happen to amass _dear_ friends, do you?"

"I have tried all my life not to."

"But seriously, Elim," Kelas said, making an effort to look at him, "I would be interested in contacting him about it.  Do you think your word would help?"

"I doubt it.  You know he is not in command of anything, don't you?"

"I do, but not from the way you talk about him."

"Believe me, I fully intend to cease."

Kelas side-eyed him, and they continued walking through the rubble until they had both returned home.


	5. 8.05 - The Familiarity of Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dust begins to clear from Cardassia, and Julian is confident in taking comfort from a known quantity.

Julian read the communique as soon as it arrived.  He and Ezri had been sitting down to tea, discussing the semi-formal research she was compiling on Trauma in Symbionts, and suddenly he was faced with a message from Kelas about the poor condition of the residences that had not been razed completely.  To himself, he wondered if Cardassia was still too weak to be housing its own beloved people, and then he lamented aloud about how simple it would have been for the Federation or even Bajor to provide aid.

“Bajor _is_ providing aid,” Ezri reminded him, but he waved his hand and said he had something more in mind.

He put in the proposal himself, submitting it to the commander of the nearest starbase for approval.  It was denied and sent back, with a request for more detail. That did not seem right to Julian; he had provided plenty of accordant case-studies and projections.  Instead, it felt like he was being stalled, like Starfleet thought itself too good to help, now that Deep Space Nine was not strategically important. Elim had wanted to go _home_ , even though he felt he had nothing to offer, and it hurt Julian's heart to learn there was not a safe home for him to have gone to, in the first place.  

That shed must have been miserable, and he could not see Elim living happily for long in a hospital.  Especially a temporary one, overcrowded with illness and injury. So, he moved around his yearly allowances - he only ever spent them on the Promenade or off-world, or sometimes sent them home with pity to his mother - and diverted them to a new home: Elim's.

There were charities within the Federation to offer medical aid, and one partnered with him to install a block of multi-family apartments in the center of the city.  He agreed to arrange the clearing of the rubble on his own, and sent down a group of bored ensigns to do it, shoveling debris onto transporter pads and sending it safely into space.  

Construction took a month to complete, and he began accepting applications for occupants in advance.  He had based his estimates on figures Kelas provided about their Medical Unit and the overflowing one in the neighboring sector, and was grateful he did not need to turn anyone away.  Although perhaps it was _sad_ , in a way, that there were so few Cardassians left.  

His foremost objective, however, was making sure Elim could have a larger flat to himself, on the upper floor where he would not be easily disturbed, nor would he suffer the impression of being crushed.  He arranged an adjoining room for Kelas, a smaller flat with a shared wall, and he sent on a personalized notice to each of them.

***

Elim and Kelas watched all of it unfold.  

Early in the construction process, Elim walked into the swirling dust alone, recognizing Starfleet uniforms but not any of the individuals in them.  A small part of him was amused to see them all wearing scarves over their faces. The rest of him was sad the measure had become a necessity.

When he wanted to see Julian, he was capable of conjuring up the vision, but it did not feel as comforting then.  It felt like a shameful indulgence, a waste of his limited mental resources, a strain on his patience. Appearing beside others in uniform was unimaginative, and arriving to advise Elim on medical treatments even worse.  Besides, Elim was in no mood to discuss what had transpired between them prior to his losing consciousness, the time he had gone rummaging through Tain's house to be a hero.

Frustrated, he would return home to see Kelas in the Unit office, where they dedicated every moment of their free-time to packing up possessions to move.  Their own, and what the patients had managed to bring with them. Many had come from burning homes, bringing along charred artifacts and clothes and dishes, and Elim felt some relief in seeing these expressions of sentimentality.  In the absence of a government strong enough to regulate the individual actions of all of its citizens, they became either rudderless or committed to their families, and Elim preferred to think of the latter.

Kelas glanced up at him, over a stack of crates.  He thought for a moment about mentioning what he knew, now, to be hallucinations.  But Kelas looked content as they worked through their tedious, self-appointed task, and Elim did not want to trouble them.

"Do you have any memories of your family?" Elim asked, agitated as he usually was by silence.

"No decent ones, I'm afraid," they replied, staring intently at the box they were packing, rearranging the pieces inside to achieve the most efficient fit.

"I should've guessed."

Kelas quirked their brow-ridge at that, but still did not look up at Elim.

"I hope you mean that in a respectable way," they said.  "If I _had_ decent memories of my family I would likely be a patrol-guard on a territory, somewhere, instead of here helping _you_."

"Me?"

"What do you need, Elim?" they said, in a softer voice.  "You should have gel enough for the next week, at least, but I would give clearance for you to order now, while the machines seem to be cooperating..."

"Your memory is very impressive," Elim said, inwardly cringing at how like a formal Courting Request this sounded.  

"Well," they mused, "it's only because I care.  There are things I do _not_ care for that I've been putting off for years."

"I can understand that."

The words Kelas said, and the words Elim was gathering the conviction to say, felt equally bitter.

"Have you heard from Doctor Bashir recently?" Elim asked.

"I am still hearing jackhammers and industrial generators from his last communique.  Has he spoken to you?"

"No, I am sure he doesn't want to, after what transpired..."

"Hmm," they said thoughtfully.  "Would you like to help me arrange some of Mr. Tarec's bone-carvings?  I could do with the help of an organized mind."

Elim nodded and came to sit beside them, crouching on the floor behind the barricade of crates, sifting through carvings and wrapping them safely for transport.  He could not define precisely how Kelas made him feel; Kelas was direct and insistent and helpful, and their history stretched back over years. Did he care enough about Kelas to genuinely pursue a courtship?  His insides twisted up at the thought of doing that with mutual sincerity. They had caused such suffering for each other...

But at least Kelas spoke to him.

***

"Are you avoiding going?" Ezri asked, one evening.

They had spent most of the day together, working at their posts in Ops.  Colonel Kira offered him an update on the construction he had privately sanctioned on Cardassia, and he felt embarrassed until she assured him he was making a good decision, giving help to the people who needed it.  Then he only felt strange.

Ezri stopped by to meet him for lunch, and ended up remaining there to work on some of her own administrative filing, instead, which she accessed at Jadzia's former terminal.  They did not speak during this time; they waited until they were home, and ignored the matter altogether.

"I know you haven't had any appointments today," he said lightly, "but don't start with _me_."

"I'm asking because I care about you."

"I know, I know..."

He hoped he had not offended her, but he was only able to apologize by coming to sit beside her on the bed.  She was lounging there with an interactive novel and a glass of bloodwine, occasionally grimacing at the taste.  

"Oh, I've read this one," he said, pointing casually to the screen.  "The blue one's good."

She set it aside, promising to select the blue path later; she wanted to talk, first.  She frequently wanted to talk, Julian had noticed, and he tried to improve his skills as a listener.  

"I don't want you to feel like you can't go to Cardassia because of me," Ezri said.

"That's... no, that's not it at all.  I'm sorry I made you feel that way. It's only... I feel there's so much for me to be doing _here_.  That wouldn't be fair to Kira, to have to find a replacement for _me_ , as well, after everything else..."

He could not tell if Ezri was amused or annoyed, with the half-smile she gave him.

"I didn't mean _permanently_."

"O-of course," he said, ducking his head.

"Anyway, I was going to give you an excuse."

"An excuse?"

Brightening her smile, she nodded.

"I've been trying to schedule some interviews with Dax's past relatives," she said, even though Julian knew every detail of her project.  "And I was contacted by Lenara Kahn."

He pulsed his fingers as he processed the thought.

"That's... oh, that's wonderful news.  Is she coming here?"

"Yeah, in a few weeks.  So, if you wanted to go _then_..."

"...you wouldn't be alone on the station," he finished the thought; it was one of his primary fears, personally, so he tried to spare everyone he knew of enduring it.

"Exactly.  We'd both get the chance to see an old friend."

He looked bashful, but could not argue her point.

"And the flats should be done by then," he said.

"Then you should go."

"I should."

He still had not worked out what to say to Elim; the memoirs were achingly private, as if Elim never expected they would see each other again.  But at least he was residing with a physician, now, who seemed to be interested in his care, and who wrote to Julian intermittently, but often enough to count as some kind of confidant.  Somehow, he was more nervous about reuniting with Elim than he was about meeting Kelas for the first time. He and Elim had spent several uncomfortable years ignoring one another, and he did not know how much of the former warmth they shared could be preserved, after such a long, cold time.  Elim had the luxury of expelling it into writing, but Julian did not have that kind of time. It could have very well been gone from Elim's system, recorded for posterity instead of practice.

Ezri was nudging his arm gently, offering him a sip from her drink, which he eventually took.  This was meant to be a celebratory mood, it seemed. So, he shared the rest of the glass with her, and excitedly read through the interactive story with her.  They selected the blue path, which he claimed to prefer.

"That's interesting," Ezri observed, when they were finished, and preparing to go to sleep.  

"Hmm?"

"That you'd pick a route you'd already read before."

"I know I like it," he said, shrugging and fussing with the corner of the bed-sheet.  "It's more my genre."

"Have you read the green one, too?"

"No."

"So you just like it because it's familiar."

He was laying down on his back, but he turned to glance at her long enough to guess at her meaning.  Meanwhile, perhaps to apologize for teasing him, she burrowed into his arm, so he got a faceful of hair instead of any helpful expression.  He decided he could not go wrong with kissing the top of her head.

"I would've expected you to go for the _adventure_ ," she said, against his skin.

The route he picked was sufficiently packed with adventure, he thought.  There was a standoff, a robbery, an armed pursuit... but she was right, in a way: it was a known quantity.

"I'm looking forward to going," he said, to reassure himself, and then they kissed one another goodnight.


	6. 8.06 - Paldar Pepper Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian visits Elim and does his best to be helpful; Lenara visits Ezri, and does not.

The shuttle trip was simple, almost comfortable, as Julian reclined in the passenger seat of the Yenisei and oversaw a capable young lieutenant.  He did a great deal of nervous fidgeting and chattering, illuminating the other officer after learning she had not even _heard_ of Elim Garak.  Julian was too over-excited to take the news as a personal insult; the truth was, Elim had become a stranger to him, recently, too.  At one point, he offered to take over the controls so the lieutenant could rest, just to give himself an excuse to stop re-reading Elim's manuscript.  But it was a short trip and the junior lieutenant politely protested, and Julian set down his padd and paced until they went into orbit.

Being able to beam down through the rising smoke was only newly possible, and Julian triple-checked the coordinates and chemical makeup of the atmosphere before stepping over to the transporter pad.  Of course, he was sure of the values at first glance, but he wanted to keep himself occupied, hoping to stall the inevitable as long as possible. He did not know why he was so reluctant. 

Onto the pad beside him, he hauled a crate of rations, with his more expansive medkit resting on top.  These were to be transported directly to the City clinic. He tugged at the strap of his own personal medkit and then adjusted his tricorder.  Then, smiling nervously, he nodded approval to the lieutenant, and felt himself dematerializing.

He had never given the process much thought, before, but now, he realized he was being taken apart and remade.  Upon landing, he felt nauseous, but the feeling passed when he applied an air-filtration mask. Breathing outdoors was still difficult, but buildings - and even the canvas tents of the relief centers - were required to filter and sometimes replicate acceptable air.  

When he glanced up, following the pattern of shade that fell over his forearm, he could see the housing block he had sponsored and fought for.  Despite his insistent involvement, he felt this was the most neutral place for the two of them to meet again. It had been painstakingly designed to complement the former architecture in the area, outfitted with modern technology and comfortable, collapsible furniture.  The single basement floor boasted a library and a community dining room for those who needed it, as well as a basic communications array and a transporter pad pre-programmed and charged sufficiently to deliver emergency patients to the clinic. Even with all of this meddling, Julian thought, it still looked impressively, imposingly Cardassian, all stark lines contrasted with half-circles, slate-grey slabs with green and blue accents, dim lighting fixtures, a clear numerical organization system for individual flats...

Of course, he could find Elim's flat without relying on the numbers posted to the door; it comprised just over one half of the upper floor.  It was not irritatingly larger than the flats below it - Julian did not want to spark contempt, so he had based his design almost on a pyramid - but it was large enough for Elim to feel comfortable.  Or so Julian desperately hoped, and told himself repeatedly as he completed his short walk.

***

Inside, Elim was taking out his own agitation on an wheel-loom.  In a bout of sentimentality, he recalled Kelas mentioning a Bajoran tapestry pattern they were quite fond of - particularly when made into a scarf by 'capable hands' - and he worked on it tirelessly while Kelas padded about in the other room, arranging boxes of their belongings.  Certainly, it was better to focus his attention on someone real and present, no matter how soon Julian would join him, Elim though, and then--

"Not long at all, now," Kelas observed, patting one hand against the shared door before nudging it open; Elim never locked it.

Elim tucked away his crafting project between the cushions he was sitting on, piled up in the furthest corner of the room.  They had moved in a little over a week ago, and while Elim valued an organized, practical space, he had not found the energy to do much more than drag his few implements into different sections of the studio.  His bed was set up in the opposite corner, furthest from the doors and closest to the window, and while he intended to install privacy curtains over it, he had been using them as blankets, so far. The kitchen was clean only because he relied on the replicator and Kelas's kindness for his nourishment.

"Have you introduced him to brewed _Paldar_ pepper?" Kelas asked.

Elim stood and greeted them silently, ducking his head into a barely-detectable bow.

"No, I have not," he said, when the gesture was finished and mirrored.

"Works miracles for congested lungs," Kelas said, giving Elim's shoulder a good-natured nudge.  "I'll bring some over."

"What kind of miracles do you have for congested minds?" Elim called out.

Kelas had already returned to their room, and Elim heard them sifting through their properly arranged kitchen cabinets.  They emerged shortly after, waving a little bag of tawny-colored peppercorns, opening it for Elim to sniff.

"Your remedy is on its way, my dear," they said gently.  "Now these may take a while longer... 80 minutes to percolate..."

"Yes, well.  I will look forward to the interruption.  You're very kind."

"Thank you."

"I have always thought so."

Kelas brought up their loose sleeve and its dangling, decorative hemline, masking their blush.  

"Have you indeed?" they asked, "Based on...?  Of course, based on the handful of times your father allowed you to even look at me."

"When I have a garden," Elim deflected, although the points were clearly connected in his memory, "I would take great pleasure in seeing you in it _often_.  I will plant more tea-herbs than you've ever heard of."

"Have you heard of more than the hundreds from Bajor?"

"Oh, yes," Elim lied, grinning.  "Thousands."

Kelas chuckled once, dryly, and went back to their own kitchen, leaving the adjoining door open behind them.  Elim watched through the opening, as they filled a kettle with water and a basket with meticulously-counted peppercorns, and then brought them together to boil on the cooking range.  Next, they fetched a tube of biscuits - clearly Bajoran, Elim could guess without even reading the label - and a vial of thick syrup.

He was content to watch this domesticity unfold, almost hypnotized by it.  

"I doubt you will have space for all that," Kelas eventually added.  "All those plants in one poor little windowbox..."

"I'm going to have a terrace," Elim decided.  "There must be some perk to being on the uppermost floor.  Watch, in no time at all, I'll have _reze_ vines crawling down all the way to the dirt."

"There is still rather a lot of dirt in the _air_ ," Kelas teased, dryly.  "But I do like the taste of _reze_ blossoms."

Elim mused to himself about whether or not any plant existed Kelas had _not_ eaten, but then the reasons presented themselves in something of a prison lineup - being raised in a working household, spending time on Bajor under Cardassian rule - so he chose not to mention it.

"Are you suggesting my vines won't do well?  Honestly, if that's the kind of talk I can exp--"

The door chimed in a pitch Elim had grown accustomed to from his days on Deep Space Nine.  

Kelas held onto the door-frame with one hand, hauling themself in to peer through the invisible barrier, eyeing Elim critically.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Elim replied.  

In his obvious nervousness, he began to give the command for the door to open, before realizing their temporary housing unit had been spared all unnecessary electronic components.  He padded forward quietly and unlocked the set of latches, then slid the door open and welcomed Julian in.

He gestured backward with one arm, extending it in an embarrassing display of his untidy apartment, which Julian assured him was perfectly fine.

"At least _you're_ looking well," Julian said.  "That's more what I'm concerned about, right now..."

It was strange, Elim thought, the way Julian marched in as if he owned the place.  Years could change a person, and a certain construction sponsorship could certainly entitle them, but it reminded Elim above all else of the way _he_ behaved the very first time he approached Julian.  There was a casual command to his presence, one Elim found very alluring, even if it did explain their recent distance from one another.  That, too, would take at least a few more minutes to begin correcting itself, Elim thought, as he watched Julian arrive at the makeshift dining room, where he set down his medkit on a chair, and lowered his shoulder bag to hang from the backrest.

"That's very kind," Elim replied.

Julian nodded and set to inspecting the wall panels, asking if the limited electronics were working properly.

"Yes, thank you.  I've been down to the third level to rewire a sunning bed, but I have nothing to report otherwise," Elim said.

"You fixed a heater?  Oh, the Chief would lose his _mind_."

Elim felt the slightest twinge of jealousy, before recalling the Chief had left the station too, making the two of them almost equal in Julian's eyes.  This was a strategy game he knew how to play, however. He listened for Kelas in the other room, focusing on the sounds of the percolator.

"Doctor Parmak would be the one to ask," Elim explained, sweeping one arm toward the door.  "They speak to the rest of the occupants on a regular schedule."

"Between arranging transport and clinic appointments," Kelas corrected.

Then, they seemed to realize they had company, so they stepped out into Elim's room with a tea-glass and a cleaning rag in their hand.  Julian followed them eagerly with his gaze, before wobbling his chin from side to side and catching up with Kelas's strides.

Julian extended his hand, nodding in encouragement until Kelas took hold of it, balancing the cup and cloth against their chest.  Gently, Julian shook their hand and set it back at their side, giving it a little pat to signify he was finished.

"Handshake," he explained, suddenly seeming bashful.  "You must be Doctor Parmak."

"Doctor Bashir," Kelas returned, learning, through this single experience, how to backwardly complete a Human introduction.  

Kelas seemed perfectly comfortable meeting Julian's eyes, and Elim watched the two of them, with his own gaze flickering between pride and envy as it touched each of their faces.  

"Wonderful to finally meet you," Julian assured.

"Yes, likewise.  I'll be honest with you, I've never met a human before.  But our mutual friend has told me all about you."

Elim felt as though he was being bypassed, before recalling it was proper to omit given names if one's courtship had not been made public knowledge.  

"You can call me Julian," Julian offered, as if operating on a timer opposite to Elim's.

"I may indeed."

Kelas grinned and drew a weft of their hair forward, letting it hide their smile as they turned and left for their own apartment.  They shut the door behind them, too, promising to return with refreshments.

"You said 'they?'" Julian confirmed, waiting for Elim's nod.  "They seem nice."

"They are, yes.  They've been indispensable."

Gritting his teeth, slicking around with his tongue, Julian committed to nodding again.  It was a private gesture, just for them, and Elim thought he almost looked frustrated.

"That's good.  They're here for you since... since I haven't been."

"I'm not certain what you're implying, Doctor."

Julian wrung his hands together, and stared at them as he did so.

"I haven't been a very good friend," Julian admitted.

"And regardless," Elim's voice was quiet, "I think you are among my best."

The resulting laughter was stunted, nervous, pushing and pulling between them both.  Julian squeezed his hands together a final time before releasing them, swinging them forward enough to touch Elim's forearms, sliding down to press palm-to-palm.  He seemed content to remain this way, but Elim found himself stumbling forward, being caught and gently led into a human style kiss.

Julian's lips were soft and relenting, smoothing over the cold, scaled, and parched expanse of Elim's.  They moved; that was the most curious part. Julian tipped his head to one side, then the other, while Elim remained stunned in place.  Regardless, it was Julian who broke contact, backing away and squeezing Elim's hand before letting go of it, reassuring him in a way similar to the one he used earlier with Kelas.  How strange, and how frustrating.

Elim looked down at his own hand as Julian set it aside, clapping his and sighing in a satisfied way.

"I'm sorry," Elim said.

"I'm not."

***

Ezri had intentionally left her schedule free of appointments for the day.  Lenara was due to arrive in the morning, and Ezri was both nervous and optimistic for their meeting to run long.

The previous night, before exchanging goodbyes with Julian, she had set an alarm to wake her in the morning, to ensure she had enough time to meet Lenara at the docking station.  When the computerized voice spoke up with the time - cutting through a pleasant dream she was having - she hazily connected the pieces, and realized the time was off. It was at least an hour too early.

"Identity of visitor," the computer went on, "Lenara Kahn, Trill--"

Ezri shushed the computer and asked it to confirm the time, as she rushed to get out of bed and fasten the robe she was wearing.  With input from Dax, she decided her appearance was acceptable for greeting a former spouse; she could at least be polite and open the door before excusing herself to change clothes.  Her thoughts were spinning, and Dax's sudden, excited jolt forward did not exactly help. She mumbled for the door to open as she approached it, rationally - but not realistically - prepared for what she was about to experience.

In that moment, she swore she understood the state-sanctioned benefit of becoming Joined because, when she looked in Lenara's eyes, she saw the same realization.  Dax was offering her tempting morsels of past memories, plucking them from Torias and Jadzia, both. The dress Lenara wore was long, loose, and soft pink, as her previous host had worn when married to Torias; Ezri refused to see this as coincidental, and she struggled to push the memory aside enough to speak.  Clearly, Lenara was more practiced at this kind of thing - either refuting or blindly acquiescing to her symbiont's guidance - Ezri guessed it was the latter.

"It's good to see you," Lenara said casually.  "May I come in?"

"Yes, absolutely.  I'm sorry, make yourself at home."

"That shouldn't be too hard," Lenara remarked, stepping through the threshold.

Behind her, the door slid shut, and she took in the sight of Ezri's unmade bed and low-cut robe.  Lenara's expression was soft when Ezri caught it again, but it did not make her feel any more relaxed.  In fact, Dax found it distracting, and swam in excited little circles, tugging at its connection to the anchor-nerve, doing its best to physically drive Ezri into stumbling forward.  She made a point of looking over her shoulder, gesturing toward the bathroom.

"I'll just--"

"Oh, I don't mind," Lenara assured.  "I know, I'm a bit early. My shuttle was meant to stop on Bajor, but we didn't need to, in the end."

"I'm... glad.  Would you like to sit down?"

Ezri showed her into the sitting area, waiting for Lenara to select a place on the couch before drawing up Julian's armchair for herself.  Her notes were scattered among several data-rods, but she at least had the forethought to bring her collection into one central location - a little woven basket she kept on the end-table, both of which Audrid's family had sent.  

Lenara welcomed the offers of food and drink, and Ezri made a quick detour to the kitchen to fill two of Tobin's tea-sets.  She brought back a pot of Julian's favorite breakfast blend, steeping and steaming, and called for a traditional Trill meal from the replicator.

"Two plates of _Jevess_ ," she said, "blended..."

Even though they had only been in each other's presence briefly, Ezri was stricken with the impression Lenara was _cautious_ about deviating at all from cultural customs.  It was something she had struggled with before, when she visited Jadzia; Ezri was flooded with strong emotions from Dax's memory of the whole encounter, now supplemented by Ezri's honed ability to read the demeanor of her patients.

Lenara was not quite a patient, although Ezri did have the lingering suspicion she was denying diagnosis of her connection to her symbiont - all Joined Trill were, Ezri thought - but Lenara was perhaps closest to reaching a breakthrough.

Ezri did not know anything about _Jevess_ , other than the fact it was notoriously easy on the stomachs of the newly-Joined.  It was fruit-based, thickened with starch and supplemented with protein powder, and mixed into a brightly-colored paste.  It was eaten on flat plates or shallow bowls, encouraging small spoonfuls to be taken one at a time, and Lenara watched Ezri return from the kitchen with an amused look on her face.

"I haven't eaten that in years," she remarked.

"I never have," Ezri said, grinning.  "I don't think Dax has a taste for it.  I know Tobin tried it, but it didn't go over well..."

Lenara took this news with a slight hint of laughter, just enough indicate her surprise, but then she accepted the plate and a spoon, and collected some of the paste from around its outer rim.

"I've been reading along with your research," Lenara explained.

Ezri held the spoon up to her nose and took a cautious sniff of it before tipping the contents down her throat like medicine.  The taste was not as sweet as she was expecting, and Lenara helpfully reminded her it could be eaten on toast just as easily. Ezri went to request bread from the replicator, and had another sample bite.

"What do you think?" they both asked each other, at almost the same time.

"Captivating," said Lenara, first.  "Illegal, untrue, but captivating."

"Untrue?"

Ezri answered the original question by slathering her toast in the _Jevess_ , and eating it in increasingly larger bites while Lenara watched her.  She sat with her legs crossed - not exactly primly - looking more comfortable than she felt.  It may as well have been breakfast in bed with Julian; here she was with a partner, ready to discuss commonalities and connection.  Dax suggested the confidence, and she did not resist it.

Her robe dangled from her shoulders, leaving the flaring arches of her spots temptingly visible as she leaned over her plate.

"I made it clear to the Symbiosis Commission that I disagreed with every word of your preliminary papers," Lenara said matter-of-factly.  

"Is that true?"

Lenara eyed her plate with some skepticism, and came to a silent agreement to reach across to the end table, where she stole one of Ezri's triangular slices of toast.  

"When I heard about what happened to Jadzia," she said, in what Ezri considered a carefully controlled tone, "I thought I would be able to come back here, to finish my research, to study the wormhole as it exists now... I fell so deeply into it, so to speak, into ideas of what I might do next, once I gave myself time to mourn Jadzia.  And time enough to move on. She was a brilliant young scientist in her own right, but then I... felt some detachment."

"Detachment," Ezri repeated.

"It didn't make any sense to me, until I learned Dax had been saved and re-Joined... I realized I was mourning _them_."

"Dax?" Ezri asked in a quiet, reaffirming voice.  

Lenara shook her head noncomittally.  

"It's a mess.  Torias, even Nilani... Jadzia, and everyone she was since I was married to her.  Everyone she is now."

"You mourned _me_?"

"I read about you," Lenara said, voice wavering.  She took a sharp breath to regain control. "And _then_ I mourned Dax.  Going into an unprepared host, so _young_ and... resistant.  'What a waste,' I thought."

"I thought so too," Ezri admitted, setting aside her plate.

Reaching between them, she poured them each a cup of the dark, heavily caffeinated tea.  Ezri inhaled the steam from hers - the scent reminded her of Julian - and then it was Dax's turn to feel steady while she trembled.

"I didn't have a choice," Ezri added.  "And neither did Dax. Why would I want to subject it to experiencing death _again_?  I didn't understand what we could possibly give each other.  But now, I... I think I found _something_ , and we're still figuring it out.  It’s… it’s a process, this whole thing."

“Have you already done your zhian’tara?” Lenara asked.  “I think that would do you a world of good. You need to… close off what you can.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.  I’m still… Dax and I are still working on it.”

"The mourning," Lenara decided.  "Yourself, and then someone else... a hundred people you remember but have never met..."

Ezri glanced up from her drink, which she had been staring into for consolation.  She was so focused on keeping the setting comfortable for Lenara, not being too overbearing, but then she realized that was what they _were_ to each other.  Not once, but across lifetimes.  Gently, she patted the front edge of the chair cushion, left exposed because of the way her legs were crossed, and she gestured for Lenara to join her there.  

"Kahn has never been a risk-taker," Lenara observed, standing and moving gracefully to the target.  "I've been... trying to get to know it, after I read your reports."

"I think it might be," Ezri said, wrapping her arms around Lenara's shoulders, clasping them softly in front of her collarbone.  "It seems to like Dax an awful lot."

"That's all I've learned, so far."

Ezri set her head down on Lenara's shoulder, pressing their temples together, transferring no thoughts, only feelings.  From her abdomen, she felt Dax making another surge forward, and she sighed, because there was barely a gap between her and Lenara as it was.

"Would you mind if I turned around?" Lenara said, sounding hesitant, in need of guidance.  

She gestured to her stomach, too, and Ezri understood.  Well, she understood on Dax's level alone; her own was much more convoluted.  Lenara was, from her perspective, nothing more than a beautiful stranger.

Then Lenara turned around, remaining in Ezri's hold, and then returning it.  She wrapped her arms around Ezri's waist and pulled them close together. Ezri's breath grew shallow, and the moment their bellies touched, she felt Dax tugging again, unfurling its tail and vibrating.  There was a connection between the two symbionts, which both hosts felt when their skin touched. The vibration began gently but grew stronger, until it was almost audible, leaving the hosts gasping and staring deep into each other's eyes.

“Isn’t that something?” Ezri could not stop herself from giggling at the end.  

“It’s extraordinary,” Lenara mused, sounding reluctant.

“Jadzia… didn’t know how to separate it, like I do.  But she was ready to leave with you, that day. I still feel it…”

Her gaze was warm and attentive, following each flicker of Lenara’s eyes in the dim cabin light.  There were moments when Lenara looked ready to surge forward, but whether she was dizzy or determined, Ezri could not tell.  She remained firmly planted, embracing Lenara to offer support, negotiating with Dax about its attraction.

When she tilted her chin to the side, inclining her eye-level to match Lenara’s, the gap widened.  

Lenara had pulled back, out of Ezri’s reach.  Her hand was on her lap, clutched into a trembling fist.

“I _cannot_ do this, Dax,” Lenara said.

“E-Ezri,” she pleaded.  “It’s Ezri.”

“No.   _Ezri_ doesn’t know me,” Lenara paused to correct herself.  “If you did, you’d understand.”

***

Julian expected a single, mutually-enjoyed-but-unrepeatable kiss would resolve the tension; he turned out to be completely wrong.

Of course, there were instant pangs of guilt as he thought about Ezri and the happy - if stunted - months they had spent together.  He thought of adventures and known quantities, and of the frown that singed Elim's face right after their lips broke apart.

It haunted him as he stared into the spicy _Paldar_ brew Kelas provided him, only moments prior, before dashing back into their own room and closing the door, eager to lend the other two privacy.  He was leaning against the tall shelf Elim used to blockade his bed from his shower cubicle - he had apparently found the metal wall too restrictive, and did not allow the builders to attach it in the first place - while Elim lounged at the tiny dining table, drinking his own tea in long, effacing sips.  They had tried conversation, but Julian did not want to hear himself mumble another word about the weather.

Whatever the two of them had been at their peak, Julian had revived from their years of increasing distance only to smother and suffocate again.  It seemed almost cruel until, mercifully, Elim opened his mouth to speak.

"I must have imagined it," Elim said.  "I know this is your first visit to _our_ cabin, but is it also your first visit to the surface?"

"I've been to Prime before..." Julian began, perplexed, considering his momentary visit, years ago, to obtain the schematics for Elim's wire.  

"Yes, of course you have.  To Tain's homestead, in fact.  Oh, I've been _achingly_ obtuse."

"I'm sorry?" Julian asked.

"I don't want to discuss what occurred between us," Elim immediately validated this as a lie by adding, " the way we were intimate..."

"What?" Julian coughed and then nearly swallowed a peppercorn which had slipped out of the infuser in his teacup.  "It was just a kiss, and I'm _sorry_."

"You weren't, before."

"Well, no, I-- I don't know, Garak.  It was just the first thing I thought to do.  I’m sure it wasn’t _proper_ , and I _am_ sorry for that.  But I’ve… it’s just… I’ve been wanting to do that for _years_ , now.  I feel like it was inevitable.”

Elim scowled.

“Is that the reason you came to Cardassia, Doctor?  To _torment_ me with your affection?”

Julian stared, dumbfounded, and then pressed his hands to his temples, staring downward and shaking his head in frustration.

“Believe me, that’s the last way I want to look at it,” he said.  “I came here because I thought you needed help.”

“Help?” Elim spat, “from you?  Of all the condescending things you’ve done, Doctor, this is among the most profound.”

“ _I’m sorry I kissed you!_ ” Julian sounded exasperated.  “If you’d rather just pretend it never happened, I’d be fi--”

“Oh no, my dear.  We don’t abandon guilt that easily.  You and I are on _Cardassia_ ,” Elim went on with a worrisome glint in his eye.  

Julian regretted ever trying to make amends, as Elim stood and approached him.

“I am going to tell you the truth, Doctor.  Listen closely. Weeks ago, I hallucinated. I was neglectful of my proper dosages.  I fantasized that you and I were _intimate_.”

“Garak, you--” Julian was prepared to admit to an identical infraction.

“And I knew, inside myself, that it was an idle falsehood, that you were up on the station with no desire to see me again.  And this is the vital part, Doctor - are you ready? - I liked it better that way.”

“Garak, _please_ ,” Julian spoke up quietly.

He knew Elim’s history of providing poor care to himself, and of lashing out when there was any possibility of improvement.  He had seen all of this before.

“I can work with you to adjust your prescriptions,” Julian continued, “I can get new replicators to the hospital by 2200.  I can put in a transfer request for a counselor--”

This promise in particular made Elim curl his lip in disgust.

“ _You_ can do all of these things, _Julian_ , and that is precisely the problem.   _I_ don’t deserve them from you!  You’re wasting your time here.”

“It seems I am.”

Julian’s frustration reached its peak, and he stood and excused himself, crossing his arms around his briefcase before remembering the door had a handle he needed to fumble with.  He turned it, nudged the door the rest of the way open with his knee, and stepped out. On his way through the corridor, he paused at Kelas’s private entry door, overhearing the shifting of cups and pans in their kitchen.  

“Doctor Parmak?” he asked softly, rapping with the back of his hand.  

“D-- Julian?” they stammered from within.

As had become more common in his professional life over the years, he waited until the door was opened to disclose details about his patient: Garak.

“You’ll, um…” Julian began, “make sure he doesn’t hurt himself, won’t you?”

Kelas did not seem entirely sure what to do with that, beyond saying, “yes.”


	7. 8.07 - Private Words in Shared Spaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian and Ezri come to an important decision, and so do Kelas and Elim, on a lesser scale.

When Julian arrived home, Ezri did not answer the door.  With a strange, hollow sense of satisfaction, he recalled that he could use his own hand-print without any additional override.  

He had returned as soon as he was able, but the existing time difference between Prime and the station meant he was walking in during the middle of the next evening.  Wondering if he had caught Ezri in the middle of dinner, he went to the dining room first, then the bedroom, where she sometimes set up her case notes to read while sitting and eating on the bed.  

The sound of the sonic shower distracted him, and after he was already halfway to the bathroom, he realized he had not seen Lenara, either.  There was a fleeting moment of jealousy, which he told himself was entirely misplaced; he did not see any suitcases to indicate Lenara was _staying_ in their room anyway.  And, he reminded himself, there had been that whole matter with Elim.  He needed to talk about it, but was unsure how. Ezri would wring it out of him, he was looking forward to it.

He set his bags down at the foot of the bed, and then cautiously approached the bathroom door.

“...Darling?” he asked.

“Mmm.”

The affirmation was faint, barely audible over the pulsations.  He hoped he was welcome, but paused in the threshold just in case.

“ _Julian_?” she asked, surprised but not unpleasantly.

She paused the shower and slid the door open enough to peek through.

“How’d it go with Garak?” she asked, as he looked vacantly around the room, anywhere but at her eyes.  “Not good, huh?”

“Terrible.  What about Lenara, is she still… around som--?”

“I asked you first.  Do you… want to talk about it?”

Julian glanced at her more earnestly, now, as if to make up for the time he spent staring at the floor.

“I can wait until you’re finished,” he said.

She raised a brow at him, and opened the door further.

“You’re already here, so I don’t think that’s true.”

He did not feel explicitly _un_ invited, but it took him a minute to realize her smile and the sudden restarting of the jets was meant to reinforce that fact.  

“So Lenara finished her answers in one afternoon?” he mused, unzipping the front of his uniform.  

“Not even,” Ezri said.  “I ended up sending her the file to finish later, but I don’t know if she’ll get to it.”

“Was her ship delayed?  I mean, has she not even _been_ here yet?”

“No, she was here.  I’ll tell you about it, I promise.”

He focused on the pitch of the sonics and realized the cycle was nearly done, so he rushed to join her inside the cubicle.  They exchanged a chaste kiss in greeting, and the action alone steadied his mind. He realized how calm he felt with her, how stable and valued and trusted.  And then, right after, he realized how he had gone and betrayed that trust on Cardassia. While he considered the phrasing, his hands crept up from her waist to her shoulders, and he asked if he could massage them.

Ezri nodded and looked up into his eyes as he did so; he did not mind being read this way.

“You’re frustrated?” she decided.

He loosened his grip and apologized, but she caught his hands in hers before he could withdraw.

“No, just your eyes.  Your hands are as careful as ever.”

Julian managed a chuckle and resumed his kneading.  

“Thanks, Dax.”

Ezri jokingly bowed her head, then reached to brush her hair aside, out of her line of vision.  

“So he didn’t want to see you, after all that?” she asked.

“Who knows, with him.  He wasn’t very communicative - another surprise, I know - and we just kind of… I don’t know.  He doesn’t want my help.”

“Is that all you offered him, help?”

“I don’t know what else I was supposed to do!  Half of his planet’s still burning, there’s no consistent access to clean water, people are waiting days to get into basic clinics…”

“You _know_ he doesn’t like to admit when he needs help.  And you can’t… Julian, look at me for a second, you can’t personally take all of those responsibilities on, whether he wants you to or not.”

Julian sighed, just as the sonic rotations ended.  Ezri reached behind her back for the control panel, ready to start the program again.

“Do you want the water on instead?” she offered, “That might be nice, right?”

Warm water and rising humidity tended to make Dax more communicative; Julian rarely declined a chance to study the phenomenon, whether intimately or formally.  He mumbled a ‘yes’ and reached over Ezri’s shoulder to tap the button for her.

The temperature automatically reached their preset preference, and each of them sighed in turn as it relaxed them.  Julian had to watch Ezri fairly closely, but he was certain she was feeling uncomfortable about something, too. Then there was the matter of determining how _helpful_ he would be if he made his confession; would it make her feel better, or worse?

“And I, er… I tried to kiss him,” Julian admitted, voice trailing off.

Ezri’s expression did not change much, beyond her lips parting enough to inhale through the cascading water.  Sympathizing, Julian held her shoulders and turned them both around, so they could continue facing one another while he stood under the showerhead.  

"J-just once, and he... he didn't feel the same, and that was all that happened, I _swear_ ," Julian continued.

"That's all?"

Sighing to himself, he moved one hand down her abdomen, to console Dax as he apologized.

"Honestly," he said.  "I understand if you're angry with me, if you want me to leave--"

"I want you to stay right here."

The water had two simultaneous effects: it made it difficult for him to place her tone precisely, and it also made him feel comfortable.  His face expressed his internal conflict, and Ezri touched his cheek.

"Are you...?  Aren't you angry with me?  You must be," Julian reasoned.

"I'm not, Julian.  I would've probably done the same thing... actually, I _did_ do the same thing, and I feel a little better about it now."

He was not able to be upset with her, and instead merely laughed.

"You and Lenara...?  She was here?"

"She told me my studies were interesting but impossible, and then we were sitting close together, and I thought she wanted - I mean, Dax and Kahn _clearly_ wanted it - so we kissed, and she walked out."

"Yesterday?  Darling, I'm so sorry."

He brought her closer, pecking her cheek and smoothing back her hair.  

"Why are we wasting our time on other people?" she asked, laughing dryly.  "We have each other."

"Are we..." Julian pondered, "not enough for each other?  I have to admit, I feel a lot better that both of us made the same mistake, but--"

"I don't think it's that," Ezri assured, returning the embrace.  "Both of us were adjusting to _huge_ sudden changes.  But this, right now - the fact we're talking about it openly? - that's a good sign.  The first step to any recovery is recognizing the problem."

"That's true," Julian said, considering his own professional training in comparison to Ezri's.  

He wondered if it was possible they had _too much_ in common, but maybe it was time for a change from Garak, who did not want any commonalities visible in the first place.  That had been exhausting, whereas this was reassuring.

They held each other tightly, dismissing any further debate in favor of joy that they had found one another when they did.  Julian expressed this in a mumble over the top of her head as he kissed it, saying how lucky he felt.

"Maybe I've been spreading myself too thin with this research," Ezri mumbled, "maybe I've been... putting myself too much into all of these other roles."

"And maybe I'm trying to repair a whole planet that's never done anything for me."

Reaching the end of its program, the water switched itself off.  Julian sought confirmation in Ezri's eyes, about whether he should start it over again.  

"Maybe," she said.

"Are you alright?" he asked, squinting at the control panel; based on what he could read over her shoulder, she had used the shower for a dozen cycles in the last day alone.  

"It's just Dax," she said, hand wavering.  "Since Lenara left, it hasn't felt right. I thought the shower would help..."

"Well, prolonged exposure to sonic waves doesn't help _you_."

For a moment, her face twisted into a frown, but she reached over his arm for the door handle.  She slid it open, stepped out, and went to sit on the bed, tugging her robe down from the hook mounted above her nightstand.  Attentively, Julian followed and retrieved his tricorder, mumbling quietly to dismiss each possible diagnosis.

“Well, it’s just like you going to Cardassia,” Ezri decided.  “It might’ve been good for someone, but not for _you_.”

“I’m sure I can find something just for Dax,” Julian said, rifling through his kit.

“I’m sorry I pushed you to go.”

Julian sat down on his own side of the bed, but turned to face her when he had a suitable hypospray ready.   

“What?  No, you didn’t push me.  I needed to do it, and I’m glad I did.  I can say it’s over, now.”

He waited for her to return his nod before lining the hypospray up and releasing it over her belly.  

“I can put Garak’s letters in a drawer somewhere, like Tobin’s tea-set, and just… leave them there.  I did what I could for him.”

Those words always made him think of...

Her hand beat his to Dax, barely.  They rubbed it together, pushing and pulling, sighing and giggling when it finally began to relax.

“That’s all you can do, you know,” Ezri reminded him.  “Your best doesn’t always equal ‘perfect,’ Julian, and that’s _okay_.”

Biting his lip, he nodded.

“This is good, actually.  It means I can focus more on you.”

“Oh really?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he teased, “of course, ‘really.’  I’ve been distant.”

“If _that_ was you at ‘distant,’ I can’t wait to see what you’re like at ‘undivided attention.’”

He reached down to the foot of their bed, unfolding their blanket and covering Ezri with one side of it.  Then he reached to tie her robe for her, and brushed her cheek with his hand.

“I’ll let you rest, before that,” he assured.  “You need it. Dizziness? Headache? Muscle cr--?”

“No, I’m feeling better.  But we should talk more in the morning."

“I’m looking forward to it.”

He brought the back of her hand to his lips and kissed it softly, before settling in to bed beside her.  

***

By the next morning, Julian could not define the feeling that had come over him.  He had woken up and remained where he was for over an hour, trying to place it; he could not recall even the thinnest wisp of a nightmare, and Ezri was still sleeping soundly beside him.  Regardless, he was left with a vague feeling of emptiness, a lingering taste of melancholy in his mouth.

So when the tears came, he shrugged and thought 'why not, might as well.'

He jerked his arm backward, out of Ezri's reach, and that was sufficient to wake her.

"Julian?" she mumbled, until her eyes focused enough to see him, "what's wrong, did something happen?"

"I don't know."

She brought his arm back to where it formerly was, tucking it beneath her own as she reached to rub his back.

"That's okay, take your time."

"I don't understand why I have to-- why is--?"

"You have plenty of reasons," she assured.  "Garak rejected you, you felt guilty about making that offer in the first place, then you got home and got right back to work without the chance to really process any of it..."

"Work," he mumbled, confused.

"I wasn't feeling well.  I already had a day and a half of processing out of my system.  It drains you."

"And you're _sure_ you aren't upset with me?"

"I'm not upset with you.  Do you think that would help?"

"No," he lowered his chin to her shoulder, as she drew him in tight.  "No, I... I like the way you and I... support each other."

"I like it too.  And I think it'll feel better, after this."

"After I'm done crying over a Cardassian," he said, in defeat.

"There's nothing wrong with that.  That's why you're upset?"

Julian still was not sure, but he attempted a nod, and Ezri patted him.

"He doesn't want my help.  He never has," Julian struggled to say.  "All the times he's been hurt or in trouble, and I've gone to such great lengths to get him home safely... I don't know what I was thinking, that he was somehow _interested_ in me.  It doesn't make any sense."

Ezri tutted her tongue at him, and the sound came close to a chirp from her native language.

"The way you're phrasing it, now, sounds like you think you're upset for a selfish reason, but I don't think that's true.  You're still worried about him, because you've seen how he handles problems on his own, and you're viewing a romantic relationship with him as the only way to ensure he gets the care he needs."

Julian wondered if that was how Ezri was considering him, but wisely decided against saying anything.  Whatever the case, it was working: he was feeling better, little by little. He sniffled and reached up with his stifled hand to rub his nose, and he realized a relationship that was not mutually rewarding was a waste of his time and talent.  He could be patient and devoted, but he could not be _ignored_.

"I love being with you," he whispered into her ear.

***

Elim and Kelas had spent their night in a similar fashion, reflecting quietly and reluctantly.  Ordinarily, Cardassians were nocturnal, and after the fire and the sudden change from the station, Elim was almost adjusted back to a normal sleeping pattern.  Kelas sipped through their entire pot of peppered tea while they sat beside Elim at his dining table. Elim could not be convinced to stare anywhere but the door.  

"I let him walk right out of my life," Elim concluded.  "Over nothing. Sentiment."

"That's something," Kelas assured.  "I thought he was - what was that Standard term? - sweet."

"The root of all of his problems."

"Garak," Kelas admonished, fondly, "I'm sure that's his finest quality.  You're much too hard on him."

"He doesn't know when to stop, otherwise.  He wiggles his way into _everything_ , he's insufferable."

"Mercies.  He built you a home."

"Because he wants to live inside it.  It's the same reason he insists on taking such an active role in my healthcare, physical and mental.  Haven't you noticed?"

"I like that," Kelas decided.  "Someone has to, if you won't."

"But I _will_.  The day I get him out of my head will be a revelation."

"You still think of him often?  Of course you do, that's understandable."

"In unnervingly realistic detail," Elim half-questioned.  "Almost constantly, when I am not cautious."

Kelas reached to put their hand over Elim's.

"I have heard of hallucinations as a side effect of Withdrawal."

" _Withdrawal_   As in addiction?"

"Not inherently a negative one, Garak.  I mean to say you lived among humans - and Julian particularly - for many years.  That kind of repetition can become comfortable. And if you don't want him to visit you here, now, in person... I'm not sure what else can be done for you."

"Done for me," Elim mumbled.  "If he didn't want to join me here in the first place, if he decided to stay on the station... I..."

"How about a new start?"

Kelas squeezed Elim's hand, and followed his eyes to the door.  With Elim's attention, Kelas turned the other way, instead.

"Will you watch the sunrise with me?" they asked.  "Outside, in that supposed herb garden of yours."

Elim thought it over; the fact he did not like the breathing masks was well known to Kelas, but the concept appealed nonetheless.  He realized, at that moment, it could be called some indication of progress - of fondness, at the very least. He was listening to Kelas, taking their input, and committing it to improving his own well-being.

"Let me bring you a scarf," Kelas added, standing up before Elim could.

They fetched one from their room, lovingly tied it over Elim's face, and led him outside to the balcony.  The two of them sat in quiet contemplation as the sun rose, with Kelas sometimes reaching around the back of their chair to adjust Elim's, gradually lowering it so Elim could sleep.

He remained there in the sunshine for hours.  

***

Julian thought it was one of her better suggestions.  They spent their day working in their respective offices, and then shared a half-shift at Ops, stealing glances and smiling to themselves.  Julian tipped his head over toward Kira, buried in her office, and Ezri mouthed ‘not yet’ and hid her face behind her computer console.

When she was finished with her work, she walked over to stand behind Julian, resting on his shoulder while he finished arranging his appointment calendar for the following week; he was seeing how much he could condense it, if necessary.  With this done, he turned and took Ezri’s hand, leading her to the office, waiting at the door for Kira to see them and admit them.

Kira looked up and set her tired face into grin, as much as she was able.  

“I know, I know,” she said, switching off her screen and standing to meet them.  “Beta Shift ended twenty minutes ago. Ro got held up, but she’s on her way, _Doctors_ ,” she teased.

“We actually, er…” Julian mumbled, blushing.

Kira looked to Ezri, just as she spoke up on her partner’s behalf.

“We wanted to get married,” Ezri said.  

“Oh… and you wanted me to--?”

“Officiate,” Julian said.

After a moment of hesitation, Kira insisted she would be honored, and they settled on a location: the viewport where the wormhole was visible.  Ezri had never heavily subscribed to Trill tradition, and Julian, in turn, had no spot patterns for her to read into vows. Julian asked if she wanted a ring, or if he should drop to one knee to propose even though it was originally her suggestion.  They agreed they would find some symbol afterward, all their own, as unique as their arrangement had become.

So, the ceremony was brief and conducted in Bajoran, and followed by a reception at Quark’s.  Kira spared no measure in ensuring Quark was out of the way; she wanted to be the first to congratulate the couple publicly, without - as she called it - Quark’s advertising.

“Before _he_ ,” she said, nodding pointedly across the bar to where Quark was standing, “tries to sell you a holosuite, I want to wish you a happy union.”

“Oh, we have a credit left to use,” Julian assured.  “And thank you, Colonel.”

“You’re… two of my dearest friends,” Kira admitted, breath catching.  “I’m happy for you.”

When Quark did venture over to their table several minutes later, Constable Ro came down from Ops to chaperone him.  She asked curtly for a bottle of springwine and a set of toasting glasses, and Kira gave her a relieved, grateful nod.  Quark turned away before reaching the group, mumbling to himself.

Julian looked through the gathering crowd, singling out faces and recognizing very few of them.  After Kira had toasted with them and given them each congratulatory hug, Julian realized he had no one left to talk to but Ezri.  Of course, he thought about this often - and equally often, he tried _not to_.  That morning, when he stirred from an uncomfortable sleep - Ezri encouraged him to try for a few more hours after he originally awoke in tears - it seemed like a wonderful idea.  It felt comforting, supportive, and right. Now that it was agreed upon and done, it felt retroactively inevitable.

He turned to look at her, and he could not do anything but smile.

“Hmm?” she asked.

Julian gestured flippantly over his shoulder, and then scooped up his glass of springwine and sipped from it.

“All of these people, here,” he explained, “none of them matter to me, anymore.  I only care about you, and about Dax.”

Chuckling, Ezri shook her head.

“That isn’t what I meant when I said we should get married.  I meant we should celebrate our bond, not cut off the rest of our own relationships.  That wouldn’t be a healthy way to live,” she said.

“But you… you mentioned closing submissions for Dax’s personal effects, and then--”

“So I can focus on the ones I have.”

“I think I misunderstood…” Julian mumbled, feeling upset.

“I thought it would be good for us to have some symbol of our commitment.  A way of starting over, and admitting the other romantic relationships we wanted to pursue are in the past…”

Julian still felt frustrated, but only with himself.  He had found complete exclusion preferable, and far easier to quantify.  But if Kira was the only one he really knew on the station, and he kept to himself, then maybe he would not stray from his own definition after all.  It pained him, how much he enjoyed being with Ezri, and how he knew her intentions were meant to benefit them both.

“So you wouldn’t mind if I were to, um, go on and on about--” _Garak_ , he thought, shaking his head, “--Miles…?”

“Of course not,” she said, reassuringly touching his hand on the tabletop.  “In fact, I think you should write to him more often. Tell him about the wedding, and maybe we can make a trip to Earth to catch up...”

Julian felt like he should remain on the station, but he did not want to perpetuate the same essential argument, so he did not mention it.

“He would’ve given me a hell of a bachelor party,” Julian said, peering into his glass.

“Yeah,” Ezri said, fondly.  “Who knows, maybe you would’ve ended up crying in his arms, too.”

He leaned in enough for her to reach around his shoulder, rubbing to relax him.


	8. 8.08 - The End of Unwanted Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elim and Gul Madred have different ideas about the new government's educational system. Julian and Ezri have different ideas about the definition of family.

They needed to wait nearly a month to find enough of a lull to even consider asking for time off for their honeymoon.  It was a human custom Ezri was happy to incorporate, after beginning to introduce Julian to her language. In return, he was allowed to practice some of the lyrical passages interspersed throughout her pattern of spots; she showed him where her name was found in the line - on the patch of skin just shy of her left shoulder - and explained the historical tradition.  As it turned out, the pervasiveness of language was one of very few holdovers from her homeworld that she enjoyed.

Before their departure, they sought Kira again for advice and confirmation they were free to go.  She apologized for the delay - Starfleet had become slower than ever in servicing the personnel requests of the station, Kira said with a huff, and the recent storms did not help - and then merely blinked at them when they asked her recommendation of places to visit.

"Well, we're going to Bajor," Ezri said, "it's closest, in case you need us, and--"

Ro sat at the corner of Kira's desk, poring over a file on her screen.  

"Musilla province," she supplied.  "I've never been, but I've heard it's nice."

"It... it is," Kira nodded confirmation, and dismissed the couple with her well-wishes and clearance for a runabout.

The same delay was also experienced on Cardassia.  The power had been sporadic for those weeks, causing Kelas a great deal of trouble.  They made several attempts to write to Julian about Elim's hallucinations, and they ignored one-too-few smug remarks from neighboring citizens that this would not have happened if they continued harvesting power from Bajor.  They managed to slap the man and shout something about ion storms affecting the entire _quadrant_ before Elim dragged them away, and then their collective time was spent focusing on recovery and safety instead of on restoring the strength of their communications relay.  

So, when Julian received their message at last, he was sliding into the passenger seat of the Yenisei, requesting departure instructions from Ops.  The lieutenant on duty interrupted him by saying he had just received a personal communique, which they forwarded to the terminal in the shuttle's bedroom.  

"Go ahead and take it," Ezri implored him.  "I was only a _bad_ pilot once; I can handle this.  I took that injection, too, so I don’t feel nauseous."

He found the note transcribed and in frantic Cardassi.  The computer translator worked it out for him, at a slight lag, but he knew it was Kelas.  They were writing about the recurring hallucinations Elim was apparently suffering, and Julian dug desperately through the computer for access to his records from the Infirmary.  Elim's were sparse and mainly redacted, but he could not recall anything that would bring out such a side-effect.

When he emerged later in the trip and discussed the matter with Ezri, she shared his concern, and managed to match Elim's condition quite easily to the trauma symbionts suffered upon separation.

"He's seeing you because he _wants_ to see you," she summarized.

Julian did not know what to do with that.

"But I'm... with you," he reasoned.  "He made it clear he didn't want me to come back."

Shrugging, Ezri looked back at the navigational joystick she was using, and swapped the system for autopilot instead.

"Maybe he lies without realizing it, and this is his subconscious calling that behavior out."

Compelled to show his appreciation, Julian stood up from his seat and approached hers.  Since they were off-duty and he had repeatedly expressed his love for her name-spots, Ezri wore a loose shirt with only one sleeve, leaving her left shoulder bared.  He leaned over her and kissed the place above her collarbone, and she reached up enough to tousle his hair as he did so, giggling when this motion grated his stubble over her sensitive skin.

***

Since the letter had been sent, however, Elim's visions began to subside.  After he spent time fussing over Kelas, it stopped recurring; Kelas was capable enough of giving their own medical instructions, and they were a much calmer patient than Elim knew himself to be.  So there was no need for Julian's input at all, real or imagined.

Until Kelas made the mistake, one night, of sharing the details of their latest letter exchange.  The two of them were resting beside one another in Kelas’s bedroom, on individual cots, as had become their tradition.  

“I know the two of you don’t write much, anymore,” Kelas began.

“I don’t have anything more to tell him, nor to learn from him,” Elim snapped.

“Then you must’ve heard already…”

Elim hated that the trap worked on him; it was too simple.  He tightened his lips and waited, falling for it as subtly as possible.

“He is courting a Trill representative,” Kelas explained, clearly quoting their own well-intentioned but not entirely accurate translation.  “I believe you knew her, at one point.”

“I knew her at _two_ points,” said Elim, and that was all.

He shuffled himself out of his bed, and went to his own side of the house to sleep in solitude.  

Elim and Kelas did not see each other very much, over the following weeks, because Elim's full attention was claimed by the resurgent Council.  It was not situated the same as it used to be, and many even opposed reusing the name _Detapa_.  Garak counted himself among those, but only anonymously.  He had seen too many orphans outside, everywhere.

When he sat on the balcony with his face under cover of a scarf, and when he made his weekly ventures to Tain's mansion for electronic components, he saw them.  Most of them did not even attempt to speak to him, and all of the reasons he considered were equally unpleasant. Either they were old enough to remember the shame their position carried in the old world before they inherited it, or they somehow knew who Elim was and resented him, or they were malnourished and despondent.  The only individual he knew to contact about the matter was Professor Natima Lang, who had returned recently from a long period on Bajor with her partner and a small group of their apprentices.

He figured his communiques - though unsigned - hinted enough at his identity for her to take them seriously; he wrote about the resources they could gather from the razed housing blocks, the places they could build new residential schools for their youth.  Suggesting the nearest Obsidian Order base in the sector was a bit of a gamble, but it was the most secure location he could think of. The underground structures were, by all of his scans, undamaged, and unless its location had already been given out - there were too few operatives left alive for that to have happened - one could likely find equipment, rations, and fresh clothing and bunks inside.  He had already considered going once, himself, but he did not want to make such a trip for a purely selfish reason. But now, there were children in need, and there would only be more as storms and sicknesses continued.

Elim hated to admit to himself that they did need Julian's help.  Even with housing blocks completed in several sectors, and hospital units stocked with new replicators and generators, it was still a struggle to remain inside through the thick smoke and the autumnal storms, and finding wholly pure water was even more difficult.  Federation aid dissolved, after the provisional council thought the delegates were working toward wrangling the entire system into their constituency. Elim did not comment on this matter, anonymously or not.

Instead, he arranged a meeting with Natima at her residence, ready to reveal his identity.  

She lived in a circular red-brick hut, courtesy of the Bajoran relief effort, and she was not at all surprised to see him.  After a remark about how 'deliberately misleading' his message about latinum was, she introduced him as a patriot to her partner and students.  The two he had met years ago on the station were still present, and had since been joined by three others. Elim bowed to each of them politely, and they all began a long, educated discussion about resource allocation.

Elim could not help thinking to himself how glad he was to have avoided bureaucratic politics for all of his life; he preferred a practical approach.

"And you're _sure_ Bajor is willing to provide us with water?" he asked.  This was his most pressing concern.

"They'll provide the buildings for schoolhouses in the five most populous sectors, and each will have a full purification system," Natima replied.  "And I have their teachers right here."

She nodded to her longtime students and Elim smiled at her.

"Last I had heard," he said, "we still owed them reparations."

Natima's partner, Dedia, spoke up.

" _We_ don't," she said, gesturing to include everyone but Elim.  

Natima gave her a half-teasing huff.

"We did a great deal of food-smuggling during the Occupation," Natima explained.  "We're on good terms with most of their clergy, one vedek in particular."

Forcibly humbling himself by shrinking down his shoulders, Elim acknowledged this.

"I had some connections, myself, but I have not tended to them recently," he admitted, in reference mostly to Kira; the rest had only graves for him to tend to.  "I am working closely with Doctor Parmak, now, and they also have some lasting ties to Bajor, if my memory serves me." 

"Your memory's fine," Dedia announced.  "I knew Kelas years ago."

"And you said the hospitals are stocked?" Natima confirmed.  

"They must be, if Kelas isn't here making demands," Dedia teased, leaning in to Natima's side.

"They are all up to Kelas's standards, yes," Elim said.  "The schools are absolutely the next priority, as far as I am concerned."

"Well," Natima said, dusting her hands along the sides of her skirt, "Bajor would agree with you.  That tells me the Council won't."

***

After that, the hallucinations returned, unbidden.  The imagined Julian caught up with Elim as he passed one of the Federation-provided meeting facilities, and it did not say anything.  Elim did not try to touch it, nor did he address it aloud. He simply stayed faithful to his course of medication, precisely as it was prescribed, so he would not feel guilty of altering himself.  

Still, he was sure Julian was not really there.  The circumstances were strange enough for him to wonder if he _was_ , while being positive he was not.  

Elim conveyed the worry to Kelas, who suggested recording his feelings as they arose in real time, so he could be sure of their validity later on.  

"I'm not about to send him another letter," Elim insisted.  "You see what the last one got us."

"I write to him quite often," they assured.  "He'll come around."

Elim found himself flaring his nostrils, while the Julian tilted its head at him, looking curious and concerned.

"I don't suppose it would do any good for me to admit anything aloud, if my only witness is a figment of my imagination," Elim fretted.

"No good at all.  But if you ever want to tell those things to _me_..."

Initiating was now Elim's move; he waited until he had what he could safely exchange of Kelas's gaze, and then respectfully bowed his head and extended one hand.

"You're right, of course.  You and I should be talking much more frequently."

***

The first Council meeting Elim attended was, as he expected, like a scene from Cardassia's unforgiving antiquity.  Natima had urged him to attend with her, and he knew it was his duty as a New Cardassian. But the room was hot and crowded and blandly apportioned - it was loaned from the Federation, after all - and the delegates from each sector spoke much too loudly.

With the exception of one - a man in Gul's regalia, who sat in the furthest row and kept to himself.  Elim's attention wandered to him often as the others droned on from the podium immediately to Elim's left.  On his other side sat Natima, taking diligent notes on a padd and showing it to him at intervals. She was drawing a chart of resources she had access to, and the prioritizing them based on the frequency at which the delegation mentioned them.  She and Elim remained very much alone in support of the box marked 'trained teachers for vulnerable youth.'

He had testimony to give, but no desire.  The Julian sat beside him and whispered support, citing experience with its own father, but Elim still declined to stand.  He merely waited it out, sitting quietly like the Gul in the back of the room. Elim knew he would need to run some identification on the man later, in order to understand why he was there, and what he expected to achieve.  That was the last remaining flaw of the military, Elim thought, its unwillingness to die. Nobility was perfectly understandable, but so was surrender, and he hated to see anyone still wearing the full armor, as if a war was still one.  He was grateful he was allotted a medical tunic to wear, and then he realized this was likely the reason the man was looking at him intently.

At the conclusion of the meeting - unsuccessful on all counts - Elim lingered behind, purposely ignoring the Julian in favor of the Gul.  He politely declined Natima's offer of dinner, and remained in the meeting room under cover of completing his own notes of the session.

Mercifully, and predictably, the Gul took the bait.  He stood at the head of Elim's desk, and Elim made slow work of packing his padd away in his shoulder-bag.  Stalling further, Elim felt around its contents for a ration packet. His plan was to balance vulnerability and charity, enough for the Gul to concede or, at the very least, feel uncomfortable strutting around fully armored.  There were children in the streets who might see him; it was absurd, Elim thought.

Elim tore open the corner of his packet, then counted out the mock-berries into his hand.  They came in various colors, each containing a different and concentrated essential vitamin.

"You were the exile," the man said, bluntly.

Without so much as glancing upward, Elim fed himself the supplement for calcium.

" _The_?" Elim prodded.  "There have been more than one in our system's... unfortunate history."

" _The_ Obsidian Order," the man clarified, not sounding pleased.  "Exiled by his own backward organization."

"Well, then it sounds like you and I would be on the same side, doesn't it?  Or does my math escape you?"

"I don't like whatever it is the two of you are planning."

"My math _does_ escape you," Elim sighed comically to himself, and ate another berry.  "Would you like one of these? No? Oh, Professor Lang? Professor Lang and myself are planning construction of a residential school, with assistance from Bajor.  You seemed to be paying close attention when she went over the blueprints..."

Elim returned one hand to his bag, fetching his padd and opening it discreetly, displaying his notes while simultaneously running a voice recognition program.

“Oh, Mister Madred,” Elim observed, “I may have underestimated your intelligence after all.  Unless you truly are opposed to a school?”

“I am opposed to your association with _Mister_ Parmak.”

Elim saw precisely what he was doing, and ignored it.  

“The doctor and I are providing aid and relief to citizens in need,” he said, holding up one hand, “and no, I’m not going to indulge you with any kind of title.  The war is over.”

Madred muttered something about ‘the Order headquarters’ and Elim knew he should stop taking trips to Tain’s manor.  He felt transparent, foolish, sentimental, and it was only Julian’s intervention that helped him avoid being grabbed and shoved backward.  The vision pointed subtly with one finger, and Elim looked over in time to lean out of Madred’s reach.

It would not do him any good to run - he knew that, rationally - but he worried for Kelas’s safety, so he gathered his things and walked out.  

***

"That was a good serve," Julian complimented Ezri, as she leaned against the wall beside him, sipping the electrolyte-water he offered her.

"Thanks... I like to think some of the mek'leth skills transfer."

They had returned from their week on Bajor only that morning, and found themselves with enough spare time and energy for a racquetball match.  Julian was rejuvenated, full of fanciful ideas, and happy to be home. He had willed himself to stop worrying in circles about Elim, dismissing the last remaining shred of hope that their last argument had been conducted in the interest of courtship; it was a detail of Cardassian culture he remembered learning much earlier in his assignment to the station.  But he and Ezri did not argue - not _really_ \- and that was much less stressful and backward and ridiculous.  In fact it was relaxing, and he liked being with her, and he told her this dozens of times during their honeymoon.

Now, though, he smiled and blinked in her general direction until she noticed and asked what he was doing.

"Just thinking," he replied.  "Musilla was lovely, wasn't it?"

"Definitely.  Come on, your serve."

She tapped his shoulder as he stood and followed her back to the center of the room.  Both of them faced the wall as he called out for the computer to restart its scoring program.

"Would you ever want to live there?" he asked, as he served.

"On Bajor?"

"Sure, why not?  O-or Kronos. My Klingon's not as good as yours is, obviously, but it's not _terrible_."

"What's wrong with _here_ all of the sudden?"

"Oh, nothing, I--  I had such a nice time with you, and--"

"We can't be on vacation all the time," she said, chuckling so Julian was sure they were not arguing now, either.

"No, of course not.  I thought we might look into some transfers?  This place has kind of... lost its intrigue."

"Hmm."

His next hit sent the ball above her head, and he apologized when she went to retrieve it from outside the boundary line.

"It's okay.  I hadn't really thought about it, it's interesting.  Dax gets antsy about it sometimes, too, but I was still adjusting."

"Right, some of this is still new to you," he observed.  "I haven't had many chances to leave, myself, until recently.  And it made me realize I don't _need_ to be here.  There's no crisis.  I can't imagine the Federation will stay much longer as it is."

"What makes you say that?"

"So many of _our_ friends have gone already.  And it's... I mean, if Bajor finishes the admission process, I'm sure they'd prefer to keep their own officers here, instead of... us."

"You're saying it isn't fun for you here, anymore.  Is that it?"

Her racquet connected more sharply to the ball this time, and it slammed into one of the scoring marks on the wall before Julian could return it.

"In a less selfish way, I am," he said.

"Everyone needs to have fun," she insisted, in a kind voice.  "Come to think of it, I even kind of miss being on a starship."

"I've never served on a starship.  Must be fascinating."

"Well... it depends which one you're on.  Some are strict, some are more open. But we could look into it, if you wanted a change."

Julian stretched his arm to return the volley, giving Ezri the briefest of looks as he turned his head to the side.  He expected most ships were already staffed with a CMO, and he was not sure he wanted to purely work relief shifts... unless something more important required his attention.  He took great pride in the advances he made on the station, surrounded by foreign equipment and unstudied species, but he took pride in his marriage now, too. It did not seem like the Federation was willing to promote him any further without Captain Sisko around; forced obscurity was the sentence he served, while his father walked from prison.  He would make a better father than that.

In an instant, he was swiping for the ball again, and voicing all of these thoughts at once.

"Most of them allow officers to have families these days, don't they?  I've heard on the Enterprise, you ca--"

"Families?"

She tried to catch the ball the next time it came to her, but it ended up rolling out of bounds.  Julian was grateful that Ezri knew he did better with seeing her face in addition to hearing her voice.  Words could be sterile, but her smile was infectious.

"Families," he said again.  "Their CMO raised her son there while she worked.  And of course Miles and Keiko got married there, and had Molly..."

"That's _exactly_ what Dax gets antsy about," she said, keeping her expression positive, so he did not worry.  "Dax and I talked about it a little... at the hot springs, and--"

"I enjoyed seeing that," Julian said, fondly remembering the way Dax glowed in warm water.

"I didn't want to bring it up too soon, but... a lot of Dax's hosts have really enjoyed having children, and almost as many hosts haven't lived, um--"

Abruptly, she brought her shimmery sleeve to her nose, sniffling and masking the sound.  Julian reached to hug her, not knowing what else to do.

"It wants to make sure I'm happy, and safe, and that I get all of those chances..." she continued, weakly.

Julian went on holding her, nuzzling the top of her head, speaking to help calm her.

“Anywhere,” he said, “you and I can go anywhere.  Bajor, Kronos… Earth, Trill, Vulcan, Betazed, Andoria, Caitia Prime, Delta IV, Benzar, Coridan, Ardana…”

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedia also appears in my perpetually unfinished 'Salt in an Open Wound' in case you want to take another look at Parmak's story ;)


	9. 8.09 - Selfless Sacrifice and Indecision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kelas focuses on protecting Elim and helping him recuperate. Meanwhile, Jadzia and Dax make their desires known to Ezri and Julian, a willing audience.

"I _love_ doing ultrasounds," Julian said, as he stood with his hands beneath the disinfectant light, waiting for the cycle to finish.  "They're so _exciting_."

"Is this the weirdest one you've ever done?"

Ezri was already waiting for him, wearing her scrubs and reclining on the biobed, looking at her own scans as they appeared on the screen beside her.  The specialized tricorder was activated, but sitting idle on Julian's table, and the only reading it took from this distance was of her heart-rate. From this, he could tell that she was nervous, but he did not wish to heighten the reaction, so he did not bring it up.

"I don't - hmm - I don't tend to classify them that way.  But I've done quite a few for prospective parents of differing species, if that's what you mean."

"No, I meant because it's... for yourself."

Ezri grinned in a hard-for-Julian-to-define way, and held up the base of her shirt to help him when he finally approached and rolled his cart of equipment up alongside them.  She was shy about looking at the screen, and focused on Julian's hand instead, as he spread circles of conductive gel over her skin. Dax responded visibly to this, waving its length in one long, fluid motion, reacting to the static from Julian's scanner.

"Oh... not yet.  This is all preliminary; I could handle this in my sleep.  My best course was pediatric medicine, I--" he stopped himself from going any further into his usual script; Jadzia had supposedly read his journals from his school years, Jadzia had come in for an ultrasound of her own.  And she was much more relaxed than Ezri seemed to be, now.

He had paused too long.

"What's wrong?  Is it Dax?" Ezri asked, speaking quickly.

Julian looked intently at the screen as images began appearing, flickering unevenly until the video feed replaced them.  Everything seemed satisfactory, and he lowered his scanner for further confirmation.

"What?" Ezri asked.

"Hmm?  Nothing.  Nothing's wrong.  Do you feel alright?"

" _I_ do, yeah.  But Dax is... nervous, excited... loose?"

For reassurance, he ran his scanner over her abdomen again, and turned the screen inward so she could see everything at the same time he did.

"It is... I see that.  No signs of anything wrong.  Is it uncomfortable for either of you?"

She mulled this over before shaking her head, still with some trepidation.

"You promise?" she asked.

"Yes.  But I can run further tests, if you'd like them."

"No, I trust you.  It's um..." she pressed her hand down to the anchor point, and shut her eyes while she focused.  "Wow, there's a lot there to think about... okay, um..."

He set aside his equipment and slid the table backward, out of the way.  Then, cautiously, he waited for some signal of how to proceed.

In the time since their wedding - since realizing their most important commitments should remain to one another - Ezri had begun seeking closure with Dax's past hosts.  She planned to set up her zhian'tara before the end of the year, hoping to appease the Symbiosis Commission and Julian at the same time. All of the affected _taya_ \- family shared via symbionts - had been notified, and she began conducting final interviews with them.  Julian recalled several instances where Dax's thoughts were strong enough for Ezri to voice, and others where they were persistent but unclear, until she set aside time to work through them.  He always marveled at this, when she did it - when she sat and counseled the traumas and triumphs of lifetimes.

When she opened her eyes again and noticed she was being watched, she reached out to take Julian's hand.

"It's okay.  It's Jadzia."

He looked at the floor.

"I thought it might be."

"No, it's _okay_...  Dax didn't move around this much, with her, when she was-- but it-- it's okay.  It's excited."

"Are _you_ ?" Julian asked, squeezing her hand.  "Are you, Ezri Tigan-Bashir, _excited_ about this?"

She began nodding emphatically, and sighed with relief.

"Yeah, I am.  I really am."

"So am I."

Satisfied, Julian released her hand, setting it down gently on her stomach.  Then he retrieved his instruments and directed her gaze to different portions on the screen as he went on, collecting all the information he needed.

"In my _expert_ opinion," he said, with a mischievous grin, "your reproductive system in perfect health.  We'll only need to make a few modifications, but nothing surgical at this point. Possibly nothing surgical at all, if you're sure Dax isn't uncomfortable.  But I imagine that's more due to the nature of your Joining than anything else."

"I'll let you know," she said, glancing at the screen again.  "I can't believe we're really gonna do this."

"My favorite part of the visit," Julian smiled, taking down some notes in Ezri's file.

"Have you ever needed to tell a couple 'no'?"

He raked his hand through his hair, not-quite-nervously.

"Other than Jadzia?  No. There are always options.  In fact, if you'd rather not have your womb occupied for seven months, we can use mine.  I always offer, but no one's taken me up on it. Yet."

"I think Dax and I can manage, thank you."

"Suit yourself," he teased.  "But, honestly? You'll do great.  And I'll be with you every step of the way, doing everything I can."

He kept it to himself, the fact he had said these exact words about Jadzia. _To_ Jadzia, over and over again at her bedside, even when she could not hear him.  Dax had probably sent on the same reassurances, doing its best to soothe her while she slept, to make her comfortable as she had always done for it.   But Ezri was the same, in that regard.

"You don't really get to _see_ Dax, do you?"

"If I can see it, I'm doing something wrong," Ezri said.  "I didn't have to go through Initiation to learn that."

Julian smiled at her softly.  Then he traced upward with his scanner, until Dax was visible on the screen.  Its tail was draped lower than Julian expected it to be, based only on the few times he had seen Trill medical journals, and the even less frequent times he had cause to observe Trill patients.  Most of these occasions, of course, had involved Dax, but Julian did not remember it being so... _active_.  Well, there was the time it was forcibly - but thankfully only briefly - removed from Jadzia, but when Julian found it that time, it was coiled up tightly, vibrating at a high, defensive frequency.  Julian realized this was perhaps the exact opposite scenario, and that it earned the exact opposite reaction. Dax's tail flowed languidly, and it hummed at a comfortable pitch, gently trembling against the head of Julian's scanner.  He moved this in circles to tease it and gauge its response, and it wiggled and swiveled and seemed to tease him right back.

He felt an overwhelming fondness for both of them, and leaned in to kiss Ezri's abdomen, so he could convey this.

"If you want a baby there," he said, circling the mark his mouth had made in the gel, "I'd be honored to give you one."

The realization made them quiet, timid… with the exception of Dax, whose unraveling tail resulted in a bubbling sound, soft and strange enough to draw in the attention of the others.  

“It’s just gonna be…” Ezri breathed a sigh of relief, “so nice to have a _family_.”

Julian could do nothing but concur.  He felt himself entering into one of the _exciting_ disparities he enjoyed most with Elim; he felt as though he was making an impulsive, youthful decision, but at the same time he had never been more sure of his commitment and responsibility. Maybe some decent lessons had come from their association after all, Julian thought, even if Elim was too stubborn for those lessons to ever be double-sided.

***

When Elim made it home that evening, Kelas was sitting on the floor of their shared space, rearranging the contents of their medical bag.  Many of their routine appointments were now possible within the safe confines of the apartment block, with only emergencies requiring sudden transport to the hospital tent.  They preferred to treat patients in the hesitant, newfound comfort of their homes, believing if a sense of safety flourished, health could more easily follow. This was a topic they carried over many dinner discussions with Elim, until he forced on himself a fondness for the little makeshift table and ate his food quietly, conceding to the point.

“Sevet, downstairs,” Kelas offered when Elim came in, looking perplexed.  “That young man is just like you, getting himself into trouble for the good of the cause.  He broke his wrist today, trying to lift up a crate at the Replication center.”

“Well, I’ll cover his shifts, then,” said Elim.  “Honest injury is inevitable among youth, I suppose…”

He stepped further into the room, glancing around corners and cautiously picking up his few scattered possessions, peeling aside the partition of his bedroom.  

“You’re looking paranoid,” Kelas observed.  “Come and sit down, and I’ll secure the room for you.”

Elim looked briefly over his shoulder, then narrowed his eyes and did as Kelas told him.

“Secure the room,” he said, reluctantly stooping in front of the dining hutch.

“Yes,” Kelas patiently explained, “so you won’t have to.  You may quite honestly believe someone is _there_ , and I want to reassure you without being insulting of the vulnerability”

“I think bringing up your motives might render that objective impossible,” Elim scowled down at folded hands.

“For whom am I looking?” Kelas asked, diligently touching the curtain in the same place Elim had, moments before.

“A thoroughly unpleasant Gul I met at the forum this afternoon.”

“Oh…” Kelas said softly, continuing about their task, opening cabinets and computer panels and finally the adjoining door.

Unsettled, Elim wrung his hands and followed each move Kelas made, filing away all kinds of information; he noticed the peculiar glare from the window against the boiling kettle, the way Kelas had left a set of silverware in an uncharacteristic heap, the fizzling sound of the overexerted computer.

“Doctor…?” Elim led.

“He was here already, yes.  But we parted on terms of the living, as you can see.”

Elim stood, setting both hands into fists, crossing them compulsively behind his back.  Approaching as an obvious threat was no good to anyone.

“Did he hurt you?” Elim asked.

“No, no.  He’s one of the more reasonable Command officers I’ve had to deal with, in my time.”

“Kelas, please tell me in detail.  You’re not sparing my nerves with obfuscation.”

“Well, beyond the fact he knows our address, _Elim_ ,” Kelas pointedly replied, coming to stand at Elim’s side, “he made a case about schools and hospitals as inferior to government infrastructure, something ridiculous about the Order not being welcome here, all that.  I’ve increased our security at the door, as you can see.”

Kelas nodded from the computer toward the entrance to their flat, and Elim understood the pained sound the machine was making.

“He simply doesn’t want children _indoctrinated_ ,” Kelas concluded.  “By the likes of you or I, anyway.  By himself, yes, without question.”

“Naturally the military prevails during peacetime.”

“You call this ‘peace?’” Kelas teased, voice gentle; Elim liked it, too much for the circumstances.

“To be candid,” Elim said, grinning, “I don’t know what to call it.  I’d rather he didn’t summon every ex-Order agent out of the shadows, but if that’s what he’s set on doing…”

“So far, that’s only you and I, and to be fair, he came and got us.  Dug us out like a _telk_ in a marsh.”

Elim allowed himself a chuckle, imagining the Gul as the tiny, blind urchin Kelas mentioned.

“But I used to be like him, once,” Elim admitted, changing his tone, “that’s what worries me.”

Having observed enough of Elim’s competitive games of speech by now, Kelas did not interject.

“I used to subscribe to the theory there were lesser citizens,” Elim explained, “and unwanted children, and undesirable castes.  And I used to believe I belonged to all of those categories, myself. But we can’t have that infecting this fledgling government; have we really learned nothing, after all these years and Occupations?”

“I believe most of us have learned,” Kelas affirmed.  “Madred may be alone, Elim, but you are not.”

Feeling grateful, Elim came closer, dragging in a folding chair so he could diagnose the computer.  Kelas stood over him, approvingly touching his shoulder.

“I was all of those things too, in my youth,” Kelas went on.  “But I don’t feel unwanted anymore.”

Turning over his shoulder, Elim glanced up at them.  Their eyes were soft and the tiniest bit red in the corners, but the rest of the pain and struggle was gone from them.  Elim strained to set his hand atop his opposing shoulder, like a plate, his palm facing upward. He offered this to Kelas to touch, and they did so.

***

Elim was content with these changes.  They were new and exciting to him, forbidden in his former profession and dangerous in his exile; he was in love.  

He did not admit it in so many words, and he moved slowly in his nonverbal expressions as well, but the feeling remained.  He and Kelas spoke at length about the future of their civilization, and Elim took diligent notes, and then sometimes he would fall asleep in front of the computer panel.

Hallucinations of Julian did not appear to him as long as he was home, and so he spent much of his time there.  Natima and Dedia would visit with their students, and passed on Kelas and Elim’s collective radical sentiments to the Council with satisfaction.  Madred called Elim’s absence ‘cowardly,’ and dismissed Kelas’s insistence on Elim’s bedrest as ‘conspiratorial.’ It was the least of Elim’s concerns, for the time being.  Of course, Madred could be his most dangerous when he was outnumbered, but the party’s combined efforts culminated in the opening of a Bajoran-funded residential school for Cardassia’s most recent batch of war-orphans.  Elim wanted desperately to schedule a visit, but as long as he knew the children were safe, he did not mind remaining home and vulnerable, himself.

He was not physically unwell, anymore; Kelas made sure of that.  He was, however, slow and deliberate in replacing his memories of Julian with those of Kelas.  All of this was done out in the open - another new experience for Elim. When something Kelas did reminded him of Julian, he said so, and Kelas would verify whether or not they should proceed.  The answer was generally ‘yes’ with a brief explanation, so Kelas could feel reassured they were not replacing Julian line-for-line.

The next time Kelas received a communique from Deep Space Nine, they cautiously passed it over to Elim, pursing their lips in concern.  But Elim only tutted his tongue and squeezed Kelas’s wrist as he took hold of the padd, which was finally working well enough to be out of immediate range of their computer at home.

Elim took it to his partitioned bedroom and laid on his back on his cot, while Kelas dragged in the chair from the main room.

“I’m afraid that’s more traditional than my education ever covered,” Kelas explained, nodding in reference to the padd.

Elim nodded at this, eyes scanning the curious script in search of the signature.

“It isn’t from Julian,” Kelas said, at the same time Elim found the word he was looking for.

“Counselor Dax,” said Elim.  “His... wife?”

“I did tell you they were married.”

Elim tried to look unaffected, and only succeeded because it was a lifelong habit.

“You said ‘courting,’ if my memory serves me.  Now, of course there are going to be inconsistencies due to the passage of time, your reading of Standard and Julian’s writing of Cardassi, but this is-- yes, I believe Ms. Dax met one of our poets, decades ago.”

“That explains the cursive,” Kelas said.  “I’m sorry, Elim. I thought I’d told you.”

“It’s of no consequence, my dear.  He can do whatever he chooses, however foolish.  We very much had our chance.”

Kelas shrugged and quietly expressed their fondness for ‘that fool.’  Elim agreed, before thinking better of it.

“Married,” Elim laughed dryly, “what was he thinking?  I should’ve told him how it’s improper for us to even _think_ about marriage before forty-six.”

“I’ve never seen a happy Cardassian marriage, anyway,” Kelas said.  “They do seem well-suited, don’t they?”

“I can’t really say… Counselor Dax and I did not get to know each other very well,” Elim explained, as he read the letter silently to himself.  “But I have a feeling we might be getting the chance, after all.”

“What does it say?”

“It’s quite flowery, you’d like it.  She is _legally obligated_ to perform a _time-honored rite of closure and aging_ , and would be _greatly benefited by our gracious appearance_ .  Yours and mine, as some of her _trusted companions of great renown_ .  She requests a reply by the _equinox_ and will make every _accommodation to honor us_.”

“Goodness.  She doesn’t sound like a young fool to me.”


	10. 8.10 - Threats to Make Hollow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the assistance of old friends, Ezri arranges to undergo her zhian'tara ceremony - a Trill rite of closure. But she intends it more for Dax's benefit than for her own... the Commission has threatened to remove Dax if she does not cease breaking protocol. The ceremony is her last chance to give it the assistance it needs in processing its trauma.

Julian glanced at her while she prepared the invitations, chuckling to himself as she consulted a stack of language references and wrote in her best multicultural calligraphy. 

“You’re putting a lot of work into something for a group of people who didn’t put anything into you,” he observed.  “The Commission, I mean. Not any of _us_.”

“Well, certainly not _you_.”

He paused a moment - to work out whether or not this was a joke - but she interrupted his attempt at replying.

“I don’t want them to take Dax.”

“Wait, _what_?”

“I’m required, or they’ll take Dax,” she mumbled, frantic, “And I don’t know what they’ll do to it.  That’s what the last message said, the one with--”

“I’m writing to them _right now_ , as your physician, and _insisting_ \--!” Julian growled, reaching over her books for his padd, “in your condition, of all the nerve.  They can’t do _that_.”

“They don’t think I’m doing it any favors, and maybe they’re right.  This could be my last chance.”

“Then it’s… it isn’t a good idea to be sending one out to Lenara Kahn, or to _Worf,_ is it?”

She shrugged, pouted, and then took in a steadying breath.

“I think they’re set on taking Dax anyway.  And I can’t let them do that without doing everything I can for it, first.  They won’t hurt it, only me.”

Julian bit at his lip as he nodded.

“That’s their manifesto, isn’t it?” he said, sourly, “I’m guilty of it, as well… of deciding the Host is… worth nothing.  Subpar, somehow, after years of rigorous training and dedication, a-and--”

“There was nothing else you could’ve done; I remember it, I was _there_.”

He did not feel greatly comforted by this, but did manage to set aside the padd.

“I’m not letting it happen again,” he said.  

Then he thought to himself about what Ezri said.  She remembered an event she was not physically present for, the same way she felt compelled to write to Lenara about a marriage - during which neither of them had been born.

“I’m still going to write to them,” he urged, “and ask them to give you at _least_ the rest of this year, then perhaps I’ll… if they want Dax so badly, I’ll have to find a way to replace it.”

“Replace it,” Ezri mumbled, returning to her neat pile of invitations.

“It primarily stores memories, doesn’t it?  With some emotional responses attached? Cybernetics have been at _that_ point for nearly a century!”

It was Ezri’s turn to take consolation, and she touched her chest reverently, before letting her hand slide down to her belly, falling limp alongside her thigh.

“You work on that, I’ll work on these.”

***

It took several more weeks, to arrange everyone’s schedules in a complementary way.  Ezri and Julian talked about it often, working out who should play what role; Ezri was sure of a few of them, and open to discussion on others.  

Lenara ignored the first invitation, then responded to the second with some skepticism, and the third with a specially-encoded communique.  Ezri’s breath hitched as she prepared to open it, with Julian standing over her shoulder. She tipped her head back to glance at him, and he wove his arms between hers, reaching around her waist.

“That’s not like her, is it?” he asked, bracing her whether the news would turn out good or bad; Ezri had asked her to participate in the zhian’tara as Torias.

“Waiting until the night before?  No, it isn’t. But I knew she’d say _something_ , since I told her about the baby.”

Julian breathed warmly into her hair, and both of them giggled to defuse the tension.  

“Hmm,” he said, “Lenara and the entire Symbiosis Commission.  Not my _ideal_ first choices, as far as breaking the news goes.”

“You would’ve preferred to tell Garak or Miles?”

“Miles,” he replied, like she had given him a multiple-choice question.

“Knowing you, I thought you’d want to tell everyone.”

“Not quite.”

They had not told Worf, nor the O’Briens, nor any of their other incoming guests for the ceremony.  Most of the station residents had been made aware - Colonel Kira being the first of them - and Julian had done all the necessary research to ensure the ritual could still be safely undertaken.  Physically, the event only affected Dax, and Dax had alerted them of the pregnancy even before Julian ran his first test, and he thought this all seemed fair in the end, anyway. Aside from the fact he was forced to share his personal life with scores of strangers, before his friends.

“I’m not spying,” Julian insisted, shutting his eyes for show when Ezri blinked back at him.  “Go ahead, open it.”

Respectfully, he did keep his eyes shut while she read, in silence.  He heard only their breathing for a long moment, and then Ezri reached down to squeeze his hand.

“There’s no precedent on whether or not it counts as reassociation, the Commission might have a fit,” Ezri read out, “and…”

“And,” prompted Julian.

“And she’s gonna be here in the morning.”

She turned around before he could think to force her, and she returned the embrace properly.

“That’s wonderful,” he said quietly.

That left him with the rest of the night to worry, between obsessively rechecking the inventory of his medkit and hearing a hundred false message notifications from the computer.  He was expecting to hear back from Worf, or Elim, or one of the other questionable recipients of Ezri’s invitations, but the screen was always blank when he went to check it. Drawing out a sigh, he went and refreshed his mug with raktajino, thankful to see Ezri asleep when he walked past the bedroom.  At least one… two… _three_ of us are resting, he thought, amusing himself.

The pregnancy, even in its earliest stages, took its toll on Ezri.  There were always additional concerns when carrying a hybrid child, and between the baby and Dax, Ezri was left with very little energy to herself at the end of the day.  Julian had taken to studying - and then administering - prenatal massages, fussing over Ezri until she acquiesced. Otherwise, she tried to maintain her workload, but there were some days she did not move much at all, when Julian would vocalize his gratitude to Dax and the baby, for keeping their ‘Host’ from overworking herself when she would not listen to her husband.  This was one improvement the condition made in her life, along with altering her cravings back toward foods she enjoyed prior to Joining. She needed rest and good nutrition, if the ceremony was going to be any kind of success; this occupied all of Julian’s worries.

Julian took a final sideways glance at his equipment before abandoning it and nestling into his place in their bed.  Generally, he preferred to lay in front of her, but he had been feeling more responsible lately, so he carefully lifted the covers and settled with his chest against her back.  He rarely had the chance to feel protective like this, with Jadzia, beyond the times she was in the Infirmary, and-- he shook his head, burrowing dutifully into the crest of his wife’s shoulder, placing his hand softly over her hip.  There was nothing else he could have done, there was nothing else for him to do now, there was…

There was Dax, undulating its tail to mask the faintest of heartbeats - he could not feel it at all, at this stage, in fact - but the image was more pleasant than the rest of his thoughts had been that night.

By the time their alarm went off in the morning, he had cobbled together only a few minutes of sleep, and resisted the sympathetic urge to yawn each time Ezri did.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea…” he mumbled, while the two of them were getting dressed - himself in his uniform, and Ezri in something intentionally loose.  He touched her abdomen, and quietly requested, “won’t one of you back me up on this? I mean, it’s _too much_ for you to handle right now, why don’t we wait until after the birth?”

“It’s a little late to reschedule, and I _know_ you’re going to keep a good eye on me.  You’re going to be with me every step of the way,” she said, her voice patient, trusting.

Her hand hovered briefly over his, and she moved it aside, urging him to finish zipping his uniform, instead.  

“I am, I am… but, with all of them coming here, and the Commission just waiting for a chance to have _anything_ to accuse you of.  It doesn’t seem as fun as it did, at first.”

“Have you ever been to a _fun_ family reunion?”

“You’re certainly calmer than I would be.”

“Dax has done all of this before.”

Kira and Ro had helped them arrange the setting, converting a conference room with the necessary traditional artefacts, and providing space for Julian to set up his medical equipment.  When they were ready, they ventured there together and prepared to meet their guests. Julian was fearful of revealing the pregnancy, wavering between delight in sharing with Miles and fear of sharing with Worf, who were the first and last to arrive, respectively.

He sat quietly while Ezri completed the majority of the briefing.  There would be time enough for socializing, and he would feel better about it when it was conducted with one guest at a time, within the safety of their redesigned conference room.  He kept glancing up and accidentally meeting Elim’s eyes, and then Kelas’s from just over Elim’s shoulder, and then he would blush and babble silently and look around for anyone else.

“If you look on your padds, you can read about the past host I’d like you to embody,” Ezri went on, while Julian snapped back to at least partial attention, “You don’t need to accept, but I would be honored if you did.”

Julian scanned the congregation: Constable Ro and Colonel Kira, Miles and Keiko O’Brien, Garak and Doctor Parmak, Lenara Kahn, and Worf.  He noticed Elim trying repeatedly to meet Kelas’s eyes, nudging his padd forward and nodding to indicate something on the screen. Julian looked desperately for Ezri.

“ _Joran_?” he mouthed.

Her nod rolled neatly into the shrug of a single shoulder, causing Julian to grimace to himself.  

“Something the matter, Doctor?” Elim chided, catching him despite his best attempts at staring straight downward.  “I expect I’ll be capable of putting on the mask your _charming_ partner is requesting of me.”

“Oh, congratulations, by the way,” said Miles.  “And thanks for the invite.”

Julian looked up, surprised, trying to work out whether or not Miles wanted him to feel offended, too.  Worf was undergoing a similar journey, and cleared his throat in a low, gruff way, which Julian thought could have been a growl.

“I’m sorry about that,” Julian mumbled, “it was kind of last-minute, and we-- that doesn’t sound quite right, I don’t mean it like th--”

“Was only joking,” Miles muttered back.

“If there aren’t any other questions,” Ezri said, intentionally taking Julian’s hand atop the table, reassuring him, “I’d like to get started.”

“We know your time is valuable,” Julian added.

The guests stood a few at a time and departed, with Julian reaching out for Miles’s shoulder, grasping it in a way he craved reciprocation of, as soon as possible.

“And you and I are going out for a drink after this is over,” Julian said, with a faint smile.  

Miles returned this and dismissed himself, leaving the room occupied by only Julian, Ezri, and Constable Ro.

Ro had only made their acquaintance recently, when Kira took her application in the aftermath of the Dominion War.  The station was, Kira said, ‘aching for someone with conviction,’ and Ro came from a displaced Maquis colony, with experience serving both Starfleet and the Bajoran militia.  She was somewhat too young for even Kira to recognize from the Occupation, but Kira did not need to be familiar with a face to understand its suffering. But the post was not given out of pity; Ro was well-qualified, and wanted to give back to her people, at last.

Lela Dax was also opinionated, trailblazing, and confident.  Julian oversaw the transfer of her consciousness through wires and tubes, affixed first to Ezri and then to a communal basin that had been arranged to one side of the room.  Ro nodded, lip tightly curled, and took the relaxant Julian offered her, administering the hypospray against her shoulder.

Ezri watched, eyes wide with curiosity, and she wasted no time in asking Lela her burning political questions, as soon as the transfer was complete.  

“Well,” Lela scoffed, “the Commission has always been behind the times.  I was the first female Commissioner. It wasn’t _that_ long ago, and I still had to change myself to be taken seriously.  And they gave me a newly-born symbiont to try and trip me up.”

“Oh, I’ve never been through Initiation training, myself,” Ezri sympathized, “so it feels that way to me sometimes, too.”

Lela stood, hands behind her back, and leaned in to meet Ezri’s eye level.  

“I knew it was confused, and rudderless, and needed guidance from me,” she admitted, in an even voice.  “But I couldn’t let anyone _else_ know that.”

In the rest of the encounter, Ezri worked out that there were not, in fact, any legal precedents about hosts and symbionts disassociating from each other by choice.  They chatted about committing Dax willingly to stasis, about how they were clearly separate entities all along. Ezri mentioned the trauma she felt over several of Dax’s past separations, and how she herself was culturally expected, _forced_ , to take it in before it was ready.  

“But I’m a counselor,” Ezri said, “so I like to think it’s in good hands.”

“See, I had to take it to have a voting seat on the board,” Lela added.  “It was an addition to me, and I was its caretaker. It sounds, from what you’re describing of the current landscape, like our roles have changed.”

Ezri asked one final question about legality, curious if the ceremony could be considered Reassociation with Lenara.

“She’s _taya_ \- her symbiont was hosted by one of Dax’s past spouses.  I don’t want to put her in danger; I wanted to invite her so she could find the same closure.”

Lela tipped her head to the side as she thought.

“I doubt the Code of Conduct has changed much since I worked on it, but they’ll reinterpret anything.  If there’s no precedent, I would fight it. I hope you and your wife are very happy together.”

Julian glanced pleadingly to Ezri, indicating the vitals on display over the basin, and she and Lela said their goodbyes.  

When Ro returned to her own state of consciousness, she politely nodded and left the room, and Ezri immediately began buzzing about all the Lela told her.

“Zhian’tara are usually done by one’s family at home… so, on Trill, odds are it’s one Joined individual asking their unjoined relatives for help.”

“And Dax has never been conventional?” Julian prompted, carefully running his scanner over Ezri’s abdomen, under cover of the desk.  

“I think even the Commission would get caught up in working out who is reassociating with who,” Ezri said, satisfied.  “Too many moving pieces.”

Julian sighed, stifled under a weight he could not identify, and pocketed his scanner.

“Who am I calling for next?” he asked.

“Hmm… Doctor Parmak,” Ezri decided, and Julian tapped his communicator right away.

Kelas greeted each of them with a handshake, which they claimed to have been rehearsing.  They sat and studied Julian’s instruments as he made adjustments for Cardassian physiology, and they made quiet, approving comments.

“I’ve been looking forward to this,” they babbled, “such a compelling offer, and one I thought would do our _friend_ a world of good…”

Julian inclined his head.

“ _Garak_?”

“Yes,” said Kelas, “he realizes his last visit with you ended on… poor terms, and I argued that returning here to Terok Nor might put you on fair ones, again.”

“You _argued_ , did you?” Ezri said, lightly.  “But I think you have the right idea.”

“We’ll see about that shortly, won’t we?  And a pleasure to meet you, Counselor, I’ve enjoyed our communications greatly.  I think it may have been your influence, in the first place, which inspired me to--”

Julian cleared his throat and squeezed at the tube connecting Ezri and Kelas, running through the basin.  He asked if they were ready to proceed, and when he received confirmation, he allowed the transfer to progress.

Overpowered by Tobin’s docile nature, Kelas leaned back in his seat, crossing his hands and staring down at them.  Something under his nail seemed to annoy him, and he brought it to his mouth in a thoroughly un-Cardassian gesture, nibbling away the neatly-painted edge.  Ezri gave him a soft, encouraging smile, and waited until he was ready to speak.

“I did _try_ to engage with other cultures, besides Cardassians,” he said, in a voice much more gentle than Kelas usually used, “but I found their literature engaging, and their mental discipline admirable.  If only I… if I could’ve learned anything about it, from a practical standpoint, I could’ve--”

He looked up and took a sharp breath and then continued.

“There were a great many times I was overwhelmed by Lela’s thoughts,” Tobin rambled, “I would have benefited from some better control, but Dax was, hmm, not so sure.”

“You considered Dax to be a separate entity, too?” Ezri confirmed.

“I’m sorry, not always.  Some of the time. Your work has been influential, I admit - I do get to see it all.  And of course the only experience I’ve had with it prior was Lela’s. She was quite opinionated; I’m sure it shaped Dax in a way.”

“I’m sure it did,” Ezri said kindly.

Tobin looked down again, swapping the placement of his hands, chewing at another nail.  He was not able to look up as he continued, flushing blue with embarrassment.

“Did you _really_ put my tea-set back together?  Of course you did, but I… I’m sorry, I wanted to ask you properly.  I did have them with me on Vulcan, Iloja and I used them sometimes, when I was feeling lonely, and I… would be very pleased to see them again.”

“I think we can manage that,” Ezri grinned.  

She reached over Julian’s arm to tap his uniform’s comm-badge, and called for Kira’s assistance bringing the items in from the display case in their cabin.  The rest of Tobin’s encounter was spent sharing a pot of tea, reminiscing about ‘that charming exile he was very fond of,’ while Julian purposely looked away.

Kelas shook hands with both of them again, when the process was through, and said they were looking forward to more meetings in the future.  Confused, they glanced at their fingernail, and went outside the room, promising to meet up with Elim again and make sure he was well.

Keiko was scheduled next, to host Emony’s consciousness, greeting Ezri and Julian warmly under the effect of each mind.  They chatted about plants and flowers - the only ones Emony had ever kept alive were given to her as gifts, it seemed - and relationships.

“Dax improved my confidence,” Emony said.

Her blending with Keiko, by Julian’s estimate, was the most thorough of the group thus far. She integrated Keiko’s knowledge and interests with her own, to the point even Ezri seemed to have trouble working out what was from her symbiont’s past and what was not.

When they were nearly finished, Emony stood and rushed around the table to give Ezri a hug, rubbing her arm as they broke apart again.

“I’m glad we finally snagged ourselves a doctor,” she said. “I think Dax always regretted that, you know… and I think he’s lovely.”

Julian blushed and adjusted the dial, bringing Keiko back to them.  Making a similar expression, Keiko took his hand and congratulated him, then Ezri, and assured him Miles was only joking.

“We’ll see in a minute,” Ezri said, and Julian took the cue to tap his communicator.

“I guess it’s nice you didn’t give Tobin to Miles again,” Julian observed, after he had called for their next guest.  

“That wasn’t _me_ ,” Ezri said, skeptical.  “I’m not doing anything _again_.”

Trying to recover the sentiment, Julian praised Ezri’s involved approach to profiling her choices for each host, citing Miles’s family and recent professional success at Starfleet Academy as parallels to Audrid’s history.

“Dean of the department, that’s not a bad match for head of the Symbiosis Commission,” he said, raking his hand nervously along the tabletop.  

Ezri nodded without looking at him, and waited for Miles to enter the chamber.

“Good to see you, Julian,” Miles said, taking his seat. “Ezri, you’re looking well.”

“Thank you.  It’s been too long,” Ezri replied, pointedly nudging Julian.

“Don’t worry about that,” Miles explained, “ _my_ wife says it too, exactly the same thing.  It’s only been - what? - a little over a year.”

“And I’m not sure this qualifies as a reunion,” Julian said, reaching across the table and rolling up Miles’s sleeve without preamble.  “This shouldn’t hurt at all…”

“I don’t know if you and I have the same idea of--” Miles stopped midway through the accusation, posture and tone softening as Audrid’s consciousness took over, “--of family, perhaps… or ambition.”

“Ambition,” Julian prompted.

This time, Ezri did turn to look at him, and he worried he had interrupted.

“Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Ezri assured him. “Audrid, would you tell me about your family?”

“Oh, happily,” she said.  “My daughters were my world, my greatest support system.  Neema and I were estranged for some time, and then again after her Joining.  Neither of us could afford to Reassociate, and I knew she would not forgive me in so many words.”

“Something with her father…?” Ezri tried to register the memory, but as Julian knew of the zhian’tara, it was not as easily accessible to her in this shared state.

“Our separation was difficult for her, but she was too young to understand it was the best choice to be made,” Audrid faltered. “She wanted to live with him, and she wanted to get into the Initiate program…”

“What was the name of her symbiont?” Ezri asked, “I could try to find its current host, and talk to them for you.”

“I remember being that impulsive once, too, early in my own Joining.”

Ezri tried to explain that this was not pure impulsivity, but a pattern Dax should not be subjected to any longer: forced, traumatic cutoffs from its own ‘support system.’

“You would willingly Reassociate?” Audrid asked.

“That’s not the way I see it.  Dax and I aren’t capital-J-Joined - sorry, Standard expression - I just mean we aren’t… put together in the same way _you_ and Dax were.  Today, through my zhian’tara, I’ve had the chance to hear how each host has viewed Dax, and I’ve watched the relationship change over time.  I wasn’t conditioned for Joining, I was _forced_ , in order to keep the symbiont alive after an accident.  I didn’t _want_ it, but now I have it, and-- and it’s in pain, and I’m a counselor, and--  I’m not reassociating with anyone, only Dax is. I’m here at the same base Jadzia was, I’m in contact with some of her friends, I’m _married_ to one of them.  I don’t _care_ about reassociation.  It’s outdated, it’s traumatic, and I won’t keep encouraging it.  Dax should be allowed to live its life, too, with its own friends and family.”

“ _It_ ,” Audrid emphasized, “has a right none of us do.   _It_ gets to start over, a new family every hundred years or so, a clean canvas, new experiences.  Why do you want to hold it back?”

“With all due respect, I disagree.  It can’t move forward if I refuse to let it acknowledge its past.”

Feeling awkward, Julian interjected.

“Isn’t that what this ceremony is all about?”

“Once you’ve had _your_ baby,” Audrid said, “try to tell me it belongs to Dax.  Try to tell me that you only--”

Ezri stretched her arm over Julian’s, reaching the cable that connected Audrid to the basin.  Upset, she yanked this out, leaving Miles exclaiming in pain - in his own voice - and asking Julian what went wrong.

“Was I under already?” he asked, “I thought you said it wasn’t going to hurt.”

Ezri furrowed her lip, insisting Dax was hurt by the experience.  Miles went quiet while Julian tended to his forearm, and then found him a suitable hypospray from inside the medical kit.  


	11. 8.11 - Conflict Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezri continues her zhian'tara, allowing Lenara and Elim to play vital roles. 
> 
> Dax expresses its desires, then so does Julian.

“Is something the matter, Colonel?”

Elim’s observation did not stop her from leaning in against the chamber door, listening more keenly than he was capable of doing, himself.  He watched and gauged her reactions, even through the scowl she gave him.

“I’m sure they’re taking the chance to catch up with Professor O’Brien,” Elim said, sounding uninterested.  “Isn’t that something? Two Doctor Bashirs, two Professor O’Briens…”

“And two Cardassians on my station,” Kira replied, in an undecided tone.

Elim expressed his regret at the situation, and went to sit down beside Kelas.  The two of them were waiting in the corridor outside, with the rest of the remaining guests.  Worf was pacing, head down and hands behind his back, while Ro talked as calmingly as possible to Lenara.  Keiko was called back from her trip to the Promenade, in case anything had happened to her husband. Elim and Kelas watched everything unfold.

“Julian is perfectly capable, I’m sure,” Kelas said quietly.

Elim sat down beside them, knee joints creaking as he lowered himself to the floor.  Kelas reached out for his hand as they had done dozens of times before, feeling for his vitals on his wrist, ignoring the way Elim’s ridges flushed with blue.  This was an expected side-effect, by now, and Kelas no longer expressed their worry - later, their knowing delight - with Elim’s reaction.

“I’m sure,” Elim agreed.  “How did you feel, during yours?”

“Oh, I hardly remember it.  Pleasant, I assume. Loved, somehow.”

“ _Loved_?” demanded Elim, scandalized.

“There is an indescribable warmth…” Kelas began, staring forward dreamily, “...I’ve never felt so comfortable and _familial_ before.”

“Oh, Hebetian heavens,” muttered Elim.  “That’s a dangerous amount of sentiment, even coming from you.”

Kelas shrugged and tightened their grip on Elim’s hand.

“I think it will do you a vast amount of good,” they said.  “Try to be open to that, when your turn comes.”

Elim copied Kelas in staring forward, trying to look unaffected even as his hand was very publicly held, massaged and tightly, comfortingly encased.  It was not so bad a thing, he thought, to be loved. As long as one deserved it.

***

After Julian was confident Miles was stabilized, he walked out with him into the corridor, and politely met Lenara, asking if she was ready.

She followed him in and sat down after the door had slid shut, smoothing her skirt flat with both hands, rather than reach out to touch Ezri.  Julian rearranged his kit atop the counter, and tried chatting to relieve the tension he was feeling, and assumed the others were feeling, too.

“I was Torias last time,” he mentioned.  

“Oh, for Jadzia?” Lenara humored him.

Feeling bashful, he nodded, and exchanged a smile with Ezri from behind Lenara’s shoulder.  While Miles was with them, he did not feel comfortable apologizing, but he wanted her to know he was aware of his transgression.  She was _not_ Jadzia; they had been telling each other that for over a year.  He _knew_ that, but he forgot when it was convenient.

“You were a good friend of hers.”

“Yes, I was,” Julian agreed.

Lenara looked back and forth between them, and then spoke somewhat bitterly.

“How nice,” she said.

When she was ready - and with special attention paid to Kahn’s part in the exchange - Julian dipped the scanner into the basin, and Ezri focused her memories inward on Torias, and the consciousness was passed.

It was Torias who stood and shook away Julian’s hand from the monitor he placed over Kahn.  

“Not again,” Torias said, voice strained.  “They’ll exile us.”

“They won’t,” Ezri replied, lurching backward in her seat.  “They’ll take Dax, it has nothing to do with you. They’ll take it out, unless… we do it first.”

Cautiously, Julian stood in the space between them, off to one side of the room, hoping it would not become necessary to interfere.  

“You don’t see how that would ruin both of us?” Torias pleaded.

“Who am I speaking to?” Ezri asked patiently.

Torias tossed his hands and looked away - first at the ground, then at Julian, then at the basin itself, and the arrangement of tubing and scanners situated around it.  Then he gathered his hands behind his back, wringing them, and stepped closer toward Ezri, tossing back his head to summon her from her chair.

She touched her stomach, looking unsure, but she stood firm and waited for Torias to join her.  

Julian watched Torias bring one hand in to meet Ezri’s, gently pulling it aside.  From his scanner, he saw the movement of the symbionts, flapping their tails and thudding against the ribs of their respective hosts.  There were pulses of light, detectable only because the chamber was so dim and empty, and even though Julian barely understood _vocal_ Trilling, he had a clear sense of what they were communicating to each other.  He felt as though he was intruding, and tried to clear his throat quietly, desperate to ask if either of them needed assistance.  

Ezri had groaned once, then taken a deep breath and waved him off, and while no physical injuries registered on his equipment, he struggled to gauge her mental state as long as she remained silent.

“Darling?”

He peered at her from the distance, then shrugged and came closer, before trying again.

“Ezri? ... _Dax_?”

She turned to face him, looking scared, breaking contact with Torias.

“I’m sorry, I needed th--” Julian began.

Torias swallowed hard, chin trembling.

“We never have enough time,” he said.

“We could,” Ezri said, “you and I, we _could_.”

“No, we’re--  I can't do this again, think of our child."

“ _Yes_ ,” Ezri begged, “yes.  Can, need to.”

“Dax?” Julian asked again, unsure if Ezri was speaking solely for herself.

“We can, it just _hurts_ ,” Ezri whimpered.

“That’s enough,” Julian decided, stepping between them and placing a hand on each of their monitoring devices.  

Willing himself to be calm - thinking of the multitude of patients currently in his hands - he slowly moved to withdraw the connections, walking Lenara and Ezri back toward their seats.

Both of them were breathing heavily, and Ezri scraped her hands along the front of her dress, following the curve Dax inhabited.  

“Did I hurt you?” Lenara asked.

Julian knelt at Ezri’s side, working to find out for sure.

“No, not at all.  Dax is… _ow_ ,” she set her palms on the tabletop and steadied them, “I mentioned them taking Dax…”

“The Commission,” Lenara supplied.

“Yeah, and it’s… wanting to go, all of a sudden.”

“But it can’t do that, Ezri, you’d…” Lenara trailed off.

“You’d die,” Julian concluded.  “And I’m not letting that happen.”

“It’s not like I was gonna just reach in and rip it out,” Ezri said.  “But I think--”

“I think we’re done here,” Julian decided, standing up again, bringing Ezri a hypospray to stop her shaking.  “Who was next - Garak? - I’ll go out there and explain the situation, and--”

“You can’t stop or skip hosts,” Lenara said solemnly, leaning in toward Ezri.  “You need to experience all of them, or you’ll… I don’t know _exactly_ , but you’ll remain in the most recent consciousness, and… I don’t think you want to stay like this, do you?”

“Kahn and Dax were… talking,” Ezri mumbled.  “I _did_ want… to, umm…”

“I felt that, too,” Lenara said, brushing Ezri’s arm atop the table, “but we can’t lose _you_ , now.  I can’t lose Dax _again_.”

Feeling suddenly possessive, Julian cleared his throat; Ezri turned to look up at him, Lenara did not.

“Take a few minutes to rest,” he insisted, “both of you.”

He thought about Elim - out in the hall - and about his wife, his unborn child - there in front of him - and decided to take further precautions.  Calling Constable Ro, he requested a set of restraints for Elim’s turn as Joran, and presenting the nearest replicator with his medical clearance, he ordered a set of sedatives.  Lenara seemed to recover from her bout quickly, but remained intently focused on Ezri, looking concerned while Julian could only manage professional indifference.

“Dax _has_ been on its own before,” Ezri recalled, timidly, “ _out_.”

“You shouldn’t focus on that right now,” Lenara advised, touching Ezri’s shoulder, “who was Dax’s next host, after Torias?”

She watched as Julian dismissed Ro from the room and latched the cuffs to the table, himself.  

“Oh, a murderer,” Ezri surrendered.  “It’ll be fine. The Commission said it was in stasis but it wasn’t.”

“ _What_?”

“Let’s try and get these next three over with quickly,” Julian interrupted.  “Lenara, if you wouldn’t mind…?”

He gestured at the door, but Lenara only huffed at him, in disbelief.

“I’m not sure rushing into things is the answer, Doctor,” she said firmly.

“I thought,” he muttered, “in your _expert_ opinion, we wouldn’t be able to pause the ceremony?  You can’t fight on both fronts.”

“I don’t want to fight you, I want what’s best for Dax.  Those shouldn’t overlap.”

“I’ll be okay,” Ezri announced.  “Garak… he’s the one helping out with Joran… he can handle it.  I’ll rest and figure things out when it’s over, I promise.”

In addition, she promised to write on their encoded channel about Joran, the scandal, and the coverup.  Julian remained quiet, afraid anything he might say could be considered offensive, and went to fetch Elim from outside.

***

“How… garish,” Elim remarked, staring at the thick, metal braces installed on the counter.  

“Have a seat,” Julian said.

“Oh, of course, Doctor.  I wasn’t about to make you _chase_ me.”

There was nothing professional about the setup whatsoever; serums and sprays were strewn haphazardly across the table, the Trill-spotted basin was glowing eerily from beneath, and Ezri was staring forward with a vacant expression on her face.  Garak was thankful the room was dim enough, allowing him to see the full range of implements, but that was as far as his praise could run.

“I wasn’t aware, Doctor, that this ceremony would be reminiscent of an interrogation.  I only say ‘reminiscent’ because it lacks a… certain elegance.”

“Garak, please,” Ezri said.  

“Merely an observation, Counselor Bashir.”

“ _Garak_ ,” Julian said.

Elim set his wrists into place, allowing Julian to close the fasteners.  He stifled a shiver - surely Julian realized this was not a favorable situation, surely he would not need to _ask_.

“Are you alright?” Julian asked.

Elim sighed.

“Perfectly.”

“Good,” Julian turned his back, and shuffled through the syringes on the table.  “Here, this will help you adjust.”

“I was tolerating that _temazotropic_ solution of yours just fine.  In fact, I think--”

The basin glowed more brightly as Julian reached into it, retrieving a tube, loosening a clamp which had stemmed its flow thus far.  With the greyish fluid inside it moving, Julian brought it to Elim’s forearm, and with the help of a hypostent, affixed it. After Joran’s memories and consciousness were contained inside the opening, Julian set the tube back into the basin, and took a handheld light from his kit, shining it over each of Elim’s eyes in turn.

“We just need to talk to you for a minute or two,” Julian explained.

Elim blinked each of his eyelids separately, seeing the ghosting shape of the flashlight in his periphery for more than a minute.  It was too bright and _much_ too close; what was Julian doing?

“It’s okay,” Ezri said.

Elim snapped his attention to her, rather than Julian.  She was making an effort to be friendly, at least, and-- his thoughts were interrupted by Joran’s.  Similar to his own, but untrained, reckless. No elegance at all.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Ezri affirmed, “I just want to talk.”

Elim laughed quietly, vainly, to himself, and then spoke in a voice he did not recognize.  His throat felt hollow, as if his own voice was shoved aside, along with his years of mental discipline and training.  It was being used by someone else. The last thought he remembered clearly was Kelas’s insistence on closure, realizing itself now on an interrogation table.  That would have to suffice.

The next thought was more powerful, but simultaneously harder to understand, like a stark black-and-white card in an inkblot test.  Elim stared at Ezri and worked hard to make sense of it.

“What I don’t understand is…” Joran’s voice said, “how any of them could deny Dax what it wanted.  Those cowards you’ve been speaking to - not like you and I.”

Ezri swallowed hard.

“We aren’t alike,” she said.

“But we know Dax could be autonomous.  We know we’ve been lied to. It makes us powerful, untouchable, but we don’t deserve that.”

“Garak...” Julian said softly.  “Don’t say anything you might regret.”

“I don’t regret any of it…” Elim shook his head and tensed his arms against the braces.  “It’s no good deluding oneself… my dear…”

Each word took great effort, and Elim heard a few of them - detached and louder than the rest.  He saw Julian looking at him, as if through a haze, and he tried in vain to retrack his path over the words that won him this attention.

Ezri’s voice approached him tentatively, parting the clouds.

“ _How_ could Dax be autonomous?” she asked, “How was it being held, when you stole it?”

“I didn’t _steal_ it, I was denied it, on uncertain grounds.  It was in stasis.”

“That’s all?” Ezri asked.  “Torias died, and they put it in stasis?”

“I waited months to find a returning symbiont.  It’s so rare to see… The Commission protects them, for the most part.  Selfishly.”

“Now _that_ , I agree with,” Ezri nodded.

Julian was incredulous.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s selfish,” she said to him, before turning back to Elim.  To Joran.

“We can make one mistake, even a trivial one,” Joran’s voice said, “and be written off without a second thought.”

“Garak,” Julian pleaded again, sitting down beside Ezri at the table, staring him down.

“Garak can’t hear you,” Ezri whispered.

“It’s a matter of discipline,” Joran said, having heard better than a Cardassian should. “We can act on our feelings or we can ignore them, it doesn’t matter.  It is all at the mercy of an undeserving higher power.”

“The Commission,” recited Ezri.

Julian leaned in and spoke against her ear, and Elim could not discern the exact words.

“He’s not doing anything,” Ezri insisted.  “Joran, can you tell me more about the stasis field?”

“See, you’re on the right path, here.  You _know_ you could become something greater,” Joran replied.

“I don’t like that you’re listening to him,” Julian admitted, outright.

“I don’t like that you’re listening to _her_ ,” Elim said, feeling like himself.  Discipline, indeed.

“I’m _part_ of her,” Joran said.  “I’m part of her history, what are you?”

This time, it was Julian who tugged the cable out of Elim’s arm, leaning in quick enough to catch the stent, holding in any bloodflow while stuffing Joran’s consciousness back into the basin.

“Her future,” he growled.

Elim whimpered as Julian pressed gauze to his forearm, getting louder until Julian seemed to realize his mistake, and softened his touch accordingly.

“Why did you do that, what were you thinking?” Ezri spoke quickly, sounding agitated.

“Did I hurt you?” Elim asked, to amuse himself.

He sensed a rift between the couple - which was not difficult to do, at this moment - and every second of his training told him to exploit it, widen it.  To what end, he did not yet know, but it did not matter. His safety would be preserved if he took one side over the other, not if he strengthened their bond for them.  And they were supposed to be happily married, he thought with a scoff.

“I’m sorry,” Julian said indecisively, as Elim flared his nostrils.

“No, Garak, you didn’t hurt me,” Ezri said.  “You were doing a great job, thank you.”

Julian shook his head and scowled.

“You can’t be _seriously considering_ taking Dax out and putting it in stasis,” Julian said, “that _won’t work_.”

“Don’t patronize me.  Maybe if you let me have another _second_ with Joran, I could’ve learned _how_.”

“Ezri, it _can’t be done_.  It’s not possible.  The best you can hope for is holding them for an hour or two once the separation occurs, and reconnecting the synapses afterward…?  The chance of complication, of the connection simply… _not taking…_ is _immense_.  I’ve done it…” he got quieter, “too damn many times.”

Elim watched, intrigued, as Julian’s hand worked itself into a fist.  There had been several lackluster years on the station, when their relationship was distant at best, where Elim worried Julian had lost the ability to express himself at all.  So this was… promising, in a way; _some_ emotion was awake.

Ezri inhaled sharply, words catching in her throat like grit in a filter.  

“I-- Julian, you-- _ugh_ ,” she managed.

“Yes, _me_ ,” he said back.  “If I could’ve gotten Jadzia and Dax into stasis any sooner, and more effectively, I could’ve saved them.  But I _couldn’t_ , and I’m not willing to listen to some psychopath tell me I was _wrong_ , that I’m effectively ruining your life and a hundred others.”

“I don’t think you’re ruining my life,” Ezri said, turning to face him.

“Yours, Dax’s, everyone the _two of you_ are reassociating with.  Mine…?”

“I don’t think that.  Julian, look at me. I _know_ you did your best with Jadzia, I know that.  But your best isn’t always going to be enough, and that’s _okay_.  None of us are perfect, and I know I wasn’t happy about it at first, but I’m _glad_ to have Dax, and you.”

When a long silence passed without Julian’s jaw unclenching, Elim cleared his throat, earning both Ezri and Julian’s attention.

“I hope you can forgive my curiosity,” he said, standing and pushing in his chair.  “Oh, and I forgot to offer you my congratulations.”

“For what,” Julian grumbled.

“Your expanding family,” said Elim.  “I wish all of you the best of health.”

Julian looked to his wife and choked back a sob, while Elim walked toward the door.

“I’ll be right back, can you wait a minute?” Julian asked her, voice shaking.

“I think that would be good for both of us,” she replied.

Elim heard Julian’s chair scraping backward against the floor, and when he turned to glance over his shoulder, he saw Julian sprinting to catch up with him in the corridor.  

“We need to talk, Garak,” Julian said, when they were outside.

“I am positive we don’t.  It seems I’ve done enough damage.”

The hall had emptied significantly, with the other participants having left to get some rest in between turns.  Worf passed them and Julian nodded with his lips folded tightly inward, embarrassed, and then he grappled for Elim’s forearm, touching the mark the stent had made.  It was as if he needed confirmation Elim was truly himself again, and the faint flickering in his eyes would have broken Elim’s heart, if he allowed himself such trivialities.

Julian shut his eyes, groaned, and then abruptly stopped so he could speak 

“I don’t love _her_ ,” he admitted.   

For a moment, it was tense and quiet, and Elim waited for the confession he had wrought.

“I love _you_.”


	12. 8.12 - A Minore Ad Maius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian experiences, firsthand, the impact of his life on others. Ezri asks him to play the role of Jadzia as her zhian'tara ceremony comes to an end.

It was quiet, and Julian exercised enough good judgement _not_ to confine Elim with an embrace.  They stood at a respectful distance.  Julian’s lower lip trembled, and Elim cast his eyes to the floor.

“I would be open to discussing this later,” Elim said, with all the conviction Julian lacked. “At present, I feel you should be… taking care of your wife.” 

Julian swallowed; perhaps it was not always best to rush into these things.  Eight years certainly did not feel like rushing, but when he shut his eyes, he was faced clearly with the memory of Elim touching his shoulder, when they had barely finished exchanging introductions.  By this standard, it felt agonizingly slow, but what was another few hours?

“Alright,” Julian said.  

Elim went on his way, continuing down the corridor to meet with Kelas, and Julian turned and marched back toward the ceremonial chamber, feeling a new sense of purpose and determination.

When he entered the room, he found Ezri and Worf waiting to begin.  Ezri rearranged the table so it was less of a mess, and had already recorded her vitals for Julian’s approval.  Worf had his arm on the table beside the basin, the sleeve of his cloak rolled up enough to admit the tubing.

“Doctor,” Worf greeted him with a subtle nod.

He returned the gesture and sat beside Ezri, apologizing for the delay.  Speaking quickly, he assured her Elim was fine, and they would take a chance to talk later.

“I’m glad,” she said.

“So am I,” Julian agreed, “but this is more important at the moment.”

Ezri’s lips drew into a tired but genuine grin, and she reached to hold his hand.  

“Ready?” he asked.

With confirmation from her and then from Worf, he initiated the next transfer.  The previous hosts had insulted him, exhausted him, but he found Curzon refreshing.  He had made his confession, wrenched out the weight from within himself, and now it did not hurt anymore.  Without a second thought, he was able to sit and listen intently to Curzon’s embittered account of falling in love with Jadzia, knowing he could never be with her, and of acting outside of the Commission’s regulations on a number of occasions.

Worf’s influence seemed to sober Curzon, who spoke in a controlled, almost detached tone about all of this.

“How did it happen?” he asked, when Julian was preparing to remove the connection.  

“Jadzia?” Ezri confirmed, benefiting from the strengthened mental connection with each consecutive host.

“It hasn’t been long,” Curzon said.  “I couldn’t bear to think I’d… given her some of my recklessness.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Ezri replied.  “She was doing her job.”

“Jadzia was never reckless,” Julian added, squeezing the tube while waiting to dislodge it.  “She liked a good adventure, but… no, I don’t think it was your fault. If anything, it was mine.”

“ _Julian_ ,” Ezri said suddenly, “you _have to stop_ blaming yourself.”

“It’s alright, I’ve just recently started,” he responded.  “I’m coming to terms with it.”

Casually, he removed the tubing from Worf’s arm, patting and wrapping the incision while continuing his reflection.

“It’s alright,” he repeated.  “I mean, if I could’ve done anything differently, I would have.  But I didn’t know. I didn’t try anything… dangerous. I went with what I knew, I went with what Jadzia told me, I…  I need to start _trying._..”

He sniffled, but rushed to cover his face with his sleeve, before patting Worf’s arm and nervously dismissing him.

“I talked to Elim,” he admitted, when they were alone, “I… told him I was in love with him.”

“Julian,” Ezri said again, in a tone he could not decipher.  The closest he could guess was ‘disappointment,’ but even that had a dozen different motivations behind it.

“What?”

He gathered his scanner and measured her vitals once more, recording them on the chart and ensuring Ezri was not too weak to continue.  

“I know what you’re doing.”

He sniffled again, and laughed dryly.

“Oh, good, because I don’t, and I thought that might be good advice to get from my wife.”

Ezri’s mouth fell open, and she looked defeatedly at the basin.  

“You invested a _lot_ in Jadzia, emotionally,” she declared.

“It’s _not about Jadzia_ ,” he argued, tossing his hands.

“I know, we said it wasn’t.  That was the first thing we said.  But it… look, would you believe her, instead of me?”

As she spoke, her fingers crawled toward the basin, creeping up over the edge, making a muffled sound as one touched the surface of the liquid.  Julian leaned in, watching as she swirled her finger in circles, sending ripples to the sides of the pool.

“I trust you, I want _you_ to do this for me.  And for yourself, and for our daughter, and for closure.”

“I… thought we agreed on Kira?” he replied, thoughts muddled. “D-daughter?  But the ultrasound t--”

“Dax told me,” she smiled softly.  “Do you want to do this? I can set it up; I’ve watched you every time.”

Tempted, Julian found himself nodding before his mind could catch up.  Absently, he reached for his sleeve and tugged it upward, mumbling ‘here, let me,’ and preparing himself to receive the injection.

***

Kelas accepted Elim’s offer of a ‘walk to the bar,’ where the two of them sat on the upper level for a peaceful span of time.  Quark managed to keep his prying questions brief, and merely complimented ‘Garak’s charming companion’ on their taste in springwine vintages.

“Thank you, that will be all,” Kelas dismissed Quark’s enthusiastic presentation of a second bottle.  “I’d best be getting to bed soon, anyway.”

They waited until Quark had returned to his station downstairs, behind the bar, before tapping Elim’s hand and addressing him.

“Are you quite sure you’re well?”

“I must be,” said Elim.  “It’s wonderful news, isn’t it?  Long-withheld confessions of love should always be taken with a toast.”

Weakly, Elim gripped his glass and flicked his wrist forward, engaging in the celebratory human gesture all alone.  Kelas watched and tried to return it, a moment too late.

“I’m glad you’ll get the chance to talk to him,” Kelas assured.  

“I can’t imagine them dragging out that ceremony much longer.  It’s nearly 2100.”

“There’s nothing wrong with spending time reflecting on one’s past,” said Kelas.  “Especially in finding guidance for one’s future. We’ve seen that on Cardassia, haven’t we?”

Elim chuckled over the rim of his glass, and sipped from it lazily.

“I suppose,” he said.

“There,” Kelas cooed, standing and gently applying pressure to the back of Elim’s hand. “Promise you’ll call me if you need me?”

“I will.  Or I’ll come and get some sleep.”

“That’s a lie.”

Elim reached for the springwine and found the bottle already empty; Kelas’s favoring of Bajoran flavors left him more coherent than he wanted to be, in this moment.  He planned to wave Quark down for some kanar, once the bar had cleared out a little further.

“You’re sure you can find our cabin?” Elim asked, ignoring the bottle in favor of watching Kelas stretch their arms backward and yawn.

“I’m sure I can read the directory, in original Cardassi,” they replied.  “Don’t worry about waking me, my dear. I’ll leave you plenty of space.”

“Set the heater as high as you like.  Sleep well.”

With their hand still lingering over Elim’s, Kelas nodded and said a final farewell, wishing Elim luck in his soul-searching.

“I’m just happy to see this has benefited you, after all,” Kelas said.

Elim scrolled idly through the menu screen, installed in the tabletop, and ordered himself a bottle of kanar.

“That remains to be seen,” Elim muttered to himself.  

***

“Julian, it’s okay, I’m here.  Can you hear me, Julian?”

The transfer of Jadzia’s consciousness occurred slowly, stretched between Ezri’s novice supervision and Julian’s reluctance to accept it in the first place.  

His fingers clawed at his face, and he felt that he had been crying.  

“I can hear you,” he decided, after a while.

Ezri caught his wrists and held them down.

“Almost there.  Tell me everything you’re feeling; let me know if you need to stop,” Ezri said.

“Where’s my… I left my padd…” Julian fumbled against Ezri’s grip, finding nothing to hold on the table.

“Your padd?  I’ll get it for you, hang on.”

When she turned and retrieved it from inside his medical kit, Julian forced the stent further into his arm, and then groaned.  

“Julian?”

He did not answer to that.

“Jadzia?”

“...yes…”

Ezri passed him his padd and a stylus, and he opened a blank document and stared down at it, blinking in an uneven rhythm.  His thoughts sorted themselves out, bit by bit, but he did not know how to voice them yet. He felt… contradictory.

One moment he felt like he was floating, perhaps in the warm tidal pools on Trill, and the next he was burning, dissolving, on fire.  He saw blues, reds, soft auburns and creams, harsh black and white, neverending gray. There was distant jealousy, Bajoran chanting, printed ultrasounds, arguments, the wormhole, stars zooming past at warp-speed.  And at the end of it, there was fire.

But it was over in an instant.  As the transfer finished, he felt calm, like his friend Jadzia was there beside him, taking him into one of her legendary hugs.

He did not stop crying, however, and Ezri peered at him, concerned.

“How do you feel?”

“A lot,” he replied, as Jadzia.

“Can you talk to us?  It’s me - Ezri - and Julian…”

“Ezri Dax,” Jadzia spoke fondly.  “It’s good to meet you, and I know Julian thinks highly of you.”

“We’re married,” Ezri reminded her.  

“Mmm, that’s right.  That’s surreal to me.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” Jadzia laughed, and wiped away the tears, determined to stifle them.  “He was chasing me for years, because he knew I wouldn’t reciprocate. It was safe that way.  And he… I hope he knew that I also loved him very much.”

She spun the stylus in her hand and brought it down on the padd-screen, adjusting to Julian’s grip and practicing by writing her name.  First in Standard, then in Trill underneath.

“He did,” Ezri said, “he knew.”

“He needs me to write it down, so he can remember,” Jadzia explained.

“Sure, that’s a good idea.”

Ezri leaned over to take a closer look, then shrunk back again, apologizing for the intrusion.  Jadzia did not seem to mind, and encouraged Ezri to ask more questions.

“I mean, I’ve only done this once,” Jadzia said good-naturedly.

As if it made a difference, Ezri prefaced by mentioning that she was a counselor, and had lived her entire life without any intention of being Joined.

“I hope that’s… not insulting?” she concluded.  

“That’s something Dax hasn’t done yet,” Jadzia mused, shrugging.  “I’m… really proud of you.”

“Proud?  Of me?”

“Of Julian, too, but… yes, of _you_.  You took responsibility for Dax when you didn’t want to, after I had no choice but to let it go.  I didn’t want to, I had to.”

“I understand.”

Studiously, Jadzia added another line of notes to her padd, humming as she did so.

“Julian did his absolute best; he was probably better than any Trill surgeon, even.  I wasn’t… able to tell him anything else, I couldn’t _think_.  But he’d done it before, you know, with me.”

“Removed Dax, yeah.  I kind of remember,” Ezri said.

“It was too sudden, he didn’t have access to any other Trill resources, and he did what he could with what he had.  I’m not surprised he found you in time; I knew he wouldn’t let us down.”

“Oh, I, umm,” Ezri chuckled nervously, “I was just the closest Trill to the station.  That was it.”

“If I didn’t trust him _completely_ ,” Jadzia wrote as she said this, “I couldn’t have done it.  I was scared of letting go.”

“Of dying?  Of course you were.”

Jadzia began crying again, and shook her head before speaking affirmatively.  Somewhere deep inside her consciousness, Julian still felt unsure, and it made her voice quiver.

“Of letting go of Dax.  I needed t-- to trust that Julian could take care of it for me, that he wouldn’t let Dax die, too.”

“You were very brave.”

“It’s a huge relief that I can just sit here and talk to you, you have no _idea_ ,” Jadzia went on.  “I’ve been waiting - how long? A year? - might as well be forever, just to see if we made it.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long, I’ve been trying to work through all of Dax’s feelings and I wasn’t--”

“I’m not blaming you, Ezri.  It’s just… _nice_.  To know we’re alright.  All this time I thought I was dreaming about being back on the station, but now I know it’s because you’re here.  And that honors me _so_ deeply.”

“Thank you,” Ezri nodded.  

“So I guess it wasn’t a dream that I talked to Lenara and Worf again either, was it?” Jadzia asked, beginning to smile.

“That’s right, it wasn’t.”

“ _You’re_ very brave,” Jadzia remarked.

“It’s not really me, it’s Dax.”

“Well, that’s Joining.  But thank you, that’s nice of you.”

Ezri looked over her shoulder, then out toward the door.  Jadzia had returned to writing her notes, and Ezri still seemed set on remaining unintrusive.  After surveying the room, she rested her forehead against her palm, arm bent up on the table, and Jadzia noticed how her cheeks had flushed.

“Do you… I mean, if you want me to say anything on your behalf to either of them, or to anyone, I--” Ezri offered.

“Benjamin isn’t here, is he?” Jadzia asked, immediately.

“No, he’s not.”

“Then don’t worry about it, I don’t see Lenara changing her mind.”

“What about Worf?”

Jadzia set aside her stylus for a moment, studying Julian’s fingernails as she turned one hand over in the other.  She grinned down at her progress, as she made each finger drum up and down again, one at a time.

“Not really.  Just let Julian know that he… oh, he’ll remember, I’ll leave him a note.”

“Remember _what_?” Ezri prompted, kindly.

“About a week before my wedding, he met me one night and took me to dinner and told me I was making a mistake.  And I,” she paused, and reenacted the motion, “looked at him, and I said ‘Julian, I don’t wanna hear it, you _know_ that you and I are friends, that I value that more than anything,’ and he interrupted me, and said that was exactly the problem: I didn’t want to hear it, I just… wanted to get it over with.  I found someone I liked, someone who balanced me, someone I could have _fun_ with, and I thought that was it.  And honestly? We weren’t married long enough for me to know; maybe Julian was right.”

Jadzia made an abridged note of this, enough to spark Julian’s memory afterward, and then she reached across the table to touch Ezri’s hand.  She took it beneath hers and squeezed it, hard, before realizing this was Julian’s body she was using; she backed off immediately, and folded her hands together, setting them under her chin and giving Ezri an apologetic expression.

“I liked Worf a lot, I liked Julian a lot - Julian liked _me_ a lot… but I _honestly_ don’t remember _loving_ anyone after Lenara Kahn.  I knew I couldn’t do that, though.  I couldn’t do that to her, so I settled.”

“Julian and I talked about you.  When we first started talking again, I mean.  There was a while where we just… didn’t. It hurt.”

“Tell him he didn’t make a mistake with Dax, alright?” Jadzia asked softly.  “He made a mistake with you.”

“I’m sorry?” Ezri said, shocked.

“I really thought he’d matured, that night at dinner.  But marrying you _for me_ , that’s--”

“It was my suggestion.”

“Suggestion?” Jadzia said, tipping her head incredulously to one side.  

“Yes.  We’d been seeing each other almost a year, not counting the time you knew him.”

“You can count the time I knew him; I always did that with Curzon and Benjamin.  But you shouldn’t’ve married him.”

“And what, I _should_ marry Lenara Kahn?  What are you saying?”

“I don’t know.  I’m saying it’s not fair to either of you, because you’ve both changed.  He feels responsible for my death, and you’re not me. He’s trying to apologize to you for something he didn’t even do to _me_ , there’s no connection there.  And I’m sure you two haven’t talked about _that_.”

“Jadzia, I’m _sorry_ ,” Ezri said.

Jadzia waved her hand in calm, steady dismissal.  

“It’s a lot to put back together, I know.  Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“But _I_ suggested it,” Ezri whimpered.  “I thought it would be good for both of us-- he’s running to me, from you, for the same reason: I can’t reciprocate.”

“I know you have a strong connection, I know he’s your best friend on this station.  But it doesn’t feel _right_ , does it?”

“I… I thought it did.  I don’t know.”

“Promise not to be _too_ hard on him, either.  He just wants to help; he’s not used to going to Dax without getting a _little_ resistance.”

“I won’t pressure him into it, but you’re right.  We need to talk.”

Jadzia stood and stepped away from her chair, out of the basin’s obstruction.  This way, Ezri could see her clearly, when she extended her arms and smiled softly.

“Come here,” she said.  “And don’t worry, I’ll tell him.  It’s just… I think what you’re trying to do for Dax, he’s trying to do for us.”

“I thought he and I were doing pretty well at it, too,” Ezri muttered, in playful defeat.

Slowly, she rose from her seat and met Jadzia beside the pool.  She walked with perfect, routine comfort into her husband’s arms, but it was Jadzia who held her close.

“Oh, you are, _you are_ ,” Jadzia assured, cupping Ezri’s head in her hand, “this means so much to me.  I just don’t want you to be unhappy. I might’ve lived a lot of my life as Dax, as its memories, but you don’t need to, you’re stronger than that.”

This time, it was Ezri who sniffled and rubbed her nose along her sleeve, nodding mutely and then hiding against Jadzia’s shoulder.  Jadzia murmured in her ear, hoping she could provide comfort and a sense of safety. After a moment, Ezri pulled back enough to meet Jadzia’s gaze, and then she reached for her hand, bringing it down to her own abdomen.  Jadzia squealed with delight.

“Dax!  And a baby,” she said, in a single, excited breath.  “Julian will make a _phenomenal_ father, and I have the utmost faith in you.  I can’t believe it...”

Gasping, she brought her hand to her mouth, but no matter how she splayed her fingers, she could not hide all of her smile.

“I am so, _so_ proud of you,” Jadzia said.  “What you’ve done, what you could do for Trill…”

“What I could do without Dax,” Ezri realized.

Jadzia held her tight.


	13. 8.13 - The Waiting Arms of an Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imbued with Jadzia's confidence, Julian goes to see Elim at the bar.

Even though Jadzia’s consciousness freely admitted to feeling at peace, Julian’s subconscious was reluctant to let her go.  He felt warmth and clarity within his good friend’s guidance, which he realized Ezri never managed to duplicate.

In the end, Ezri needed to cut the cable open, draining the greyish liquid back into the basin before Julian - in his sluggish and stubborn state - could feel the tube being yanked out, and protest.  It slipped out on its own, with Ezri cupping her hands carefully beneath it, while Julian _sobbed_.

He became himself again with Ezri embracing him, holding one of his hands over her stomach, his other buried protectively in her hair.  Ezri soothed him, asked him how he felt, while he stumbled backward and fumbled for his padd.

“I felt… warm,” he explained, as he gaped at the screen: a page of notes in Jadzia’s handwriting, addressed to him.  “What did we talk about?”

Ezri told him.

“How you and I are wrong for each other,” she said.

“I don’t remember it, I’m sorry--”

“Don’t be, it made me feel better, too.”

She held his cheeks, drawing him down to her level, wiping aside his tears, and then kissing the flushed skin beneath them.

“It’s only about 2300,” she said, “if you wanted to go talk to Garak before he goes home.”

Beside her, he balanced his padd against her hip and continued glancing at it, nodding earnestly as he listened and read simultaneously.

“If you’re sure you’re alright here,” he said.

“I was just gonna go to bed.  Kira has this room blocked out through tomorrow night, I can come back later and pack up…”

“Alright.  Thank you, I’ll see you soon.”

They broke apart and Ezri collected only a handful of necessities from the table - the medical kit, her own communicator, Tobin’s tea settings.  Julian finished the letter, and was drawn to a last-minute note in the margins: _go talk to that Cardassian._

“Did you… tell her Garak was here?  Jadzia, I mean,” he asked.

“Hmm?” Ezri glanced up, “No, but she was able to see my thoughts and memories.”

“Right.”

“I _think_ he went to Quark’s, at least Kira saw him there about an hour ago.”

“Right,” he repeated.

As he watched Ezri move - delicately collecting her belongings in her arms, the loose cut of her dress swiping along the tabletop as she leaned over it - he did not feel conflicted anymore.  When she finished, she moved toward the door, her back to him. He stepped into this private moment with a quiet voice and a careful tap on her shoulder.

“And Ezri?” he waited for her to look back at him, “I think I should see you as a counselor, sometime.”

“We’ll set something up.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Not… passionately,” he added.

“I know, but it’s enough.”

“I hope so.”

***

Elim had deliberately stopped paying attention to the time long before Julian arrived to meet him.  Many of the other customers cleared out already, and Quark only remained open because, in his words, ‘the kanar Garak picked out could pay to keep the lights on for the whole week, if he wanted.’  Privacy was not something Elim had enjoyed recently - not on Cardassia - and by the time Julian joined him at the table, he had cycled back to his reclusive tendencies of years past.

He slumped forward in his chair solely to avoid making eye contact, and stared over Julian’s shoulder after Julian touched his arm in greeting.

“Garak?  I know it’s late, I got here as soon as I could.  I’m… glad you waited,” Julian rambled.

“I’m not sure about any of that,” Elim answered, truthfully.  “I’ve been having a fine time alone.”

In a lazy attempt at waving, Elim wiggled his fingers in Quark’s general direction; he was on the ground level, fussing behind the bar, but still made a point of nodding to acknowledge Elim’s _generosity_.  Anyway, Elim thought it would look _good_ for him and Julian to be seen together, even if it did not feel that way quite yet.  Strangely, it occured to Elim that this simple interaction made him feel more at _home_ than he had managed on Cardassia, since the end of the War; he and Julian were sitting down for a meal and a conversation.

“I can see that,” Julian replied after a moment, gesturing at Elim’s discarded bottle of springwine.

“Very good, Doctor.  Now, what do you want to discuss with me?”

“Are you sure now’s a good time?”

“It cannot get any better,” Elim mumbled, before having another sip of his drink.  “Would you like some kanar?”

“Sure.”

“Is it quiet enough here for you to drink?” Elim mused, as he retrieved Kelas’s former glass and filled it for Julian’s use.

“Hmm?  Oh, that’s right, I remember.  Yes, it’s fine. Anyway, my - er - _wife_ is in my quarters at the moment, as my luck would have it.”

“That’s _right_ ,” Elim echoed, “you’re here to discuss how I’ve ruined your marriage.”

“I’m not, not at all.”

Grumbling, Elim slid the glass over to Julian, and emptied his own with an uncharacteristic gulp.

“We can do this tomorrow morning, Garak.  I can go to the Infirmary and get you something for your _inevitable_ headache, and--”

“I’m through with waiting.  It hasn’t worked. The first time I met you… I should have told you then.”

Elim leaned further forward, elbows skidding across the glossy surface, shoving aside his empty glass.  His chin touched the table and he groaned, enough for Julian to express concern.

“Garak… _Elim_ …” he said softly.

The sound of Julian’s chair squeaking forward reverberated deep in Elim’s ears, and before it registered as a headache, he felt Julian’s hand against his shoulder.  Human skin was warm and soft - Julian’s more so than average, in Elim’s experience - and it felt electrifying, _divine_ , over the scales leading to his neck.  He felt vulnerable and loved and angry and distant.   _Too_ distant, and damn Julian for knowing exactly what he needed, that smug and irritating and perfect--

Elim quieted his thoughts in favor of focusing on Julian’s touch.  Julian had swiveled his chair in closer, and he held Elim protectively between both arms.  

“I don’t deserve this,” Elim said quietly.  

“Shh.  I care about you.  You deserve to be cared about.”

Elim made a broken sound, mouthing words without finishing them, sinking into the warmth of Julian’s arms; it was much nicer than the warmth of the alcohol.  Julian massaged his shoulders, held him close, listened to him and encouraged him even when he was not speaking coherently.

“I should have told you _immediately_ ,” Elim repeatedly berated himself, “I have wasted so many years.  The prime of your life, the hollow golden period of mine.”

Without a clear view of the bar anymore, Elim could still guess Quark was eavesdropping from behind it, and would insist on some kind of payoff when the night was through.  But he made the choice not to care about this, because no price was too high to pay back the decade he had denied himself. While he went on muttering, Julian moved in to cup his aural ridge, gently tilting Elim’s face upward so they could look at one another.

“Elim, listen to me, _please_ ,” Julian said.  “If it makes you feel any better, what you’re saying about waiting versus immediacy… Ezri and I weren’t in the right place to get married, not really.  Hell, we weren’t in the right place to start dating, now that I think of it. We just… we liked each other, and we didn’t _want_ to think about anything else.”

“You’re having a child together,” Elim said sourly.

“Yes, we are, but that doesn’t mean we need to lo--”

“You’re starting a family with her, she’s having your child--”

“I know, I know!  We’ll just--” Julian had to quiet his voice, “--there are all _kinds_ of alternative arrangements we can make.  She and I are going to talk it over, but I think we’re in agreement, for the most part.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Elim grumbled, even as Julian softly rocked him from side to side, “You’re suggesting breaking your own family apart on the whim of another man.  That’s absurd.”

“It isn’t,” Julian insisted.  “I’m not saying anything about breaking apart.  I’m just saying we can figure something out, between the group of us.”

Elim groaned again, deeply pained.

“You’re describing the household I am a product of, Doctor, and I expected better of you than that.  I refuse to cause the suffering of your child, through my involvement with you.”

“Oh no, no, _shh_ ,” Julian murmured, “that isn’t what I meant.  I’m not going to be anything like your father - or anything like _mine_ \- I can promise that.  I’m going to do whatever’s best for her, and I’m _positive_ ‘whatever’s best’ doesn’t mean her mother and father living together unhappily.  We’re going to figure out the details, and I will take your feelings into consideration every step of the way.”

“Will you?”

“Yes, of course I will.”

Elim did not want to expend his limited energy on wrestling free of Julian’s grip, so he merely slumped to distance himself, and waited for Julian to pick up on the cue.  More slowly than strictly necessary, Julian removed his hands and returned his chair to its original position, staring intently at Elim over the field of bottles and glasses.

“I seem to remember you strapping me to a chair and interrogating me,” Elim remarked.

Julian gasped again, ashamed.

“I’m _so sorry_ , I promise to--”

“Did I tell you how Doctor Parmak and I became involved?” Elim continued.

“I promise to take their perspective into account, as well, and--”

“I interrogated them, decades ago.  Don’t I have the most curious luck?”

“I thought Cardassians didn’t believe in luck.”

“If you and I are finally going to involve ourselves, I think it’s time I start.  Did you believe _everything_ I told you?”

“I think it’s time you get some sleep.”

Deflating his shoulders, Elim chuckled and collapsed in on himself.  

“Yes, _Doctor_ ,” he said.  

Around him, Julian was fussing with the bottles, stacking empty glasses and making the table as neat as possible.  

“I’ll walk you home,” Julian offered.

As they went off together, Julian mentioned the trivia contest Quark had hosted much earlier in the year, and the misinformation he supplied about a certain enigma tale.  Julian recalled reading it solely to impress Elim, which Elim found laughable, now, as he stumbled off of the last stair and into Julian’s waiting arms.

“And he wouldn’t give you credits for that?” Elim cackled, “I’ll be sure to give him a piece of my mind.”

Elim hooked his arm through Julian’s, and leaned heavily on the bar as they passed it.  Quark sprang up from behind it, ready to fire off some excuse or apology, which Elim silenced with a strip of latinum from inside his suit pocket.

“My well-read friend and I are going home,” he slurred.

“I’m happy for you, Garak,” Quark lilted.  “And you, Doctor - is Counselor Dax a--”

“Save it, Quark; she knows.”


	14. 8.14 - Inclusion by Design

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Ezri and Julian welcome their daughter, Julian tries to maintain time to redesign his relationships. Between communiques to Cardassia and rambled monologues to his daughter and increased activity from the Dax symbiont, he discovers new ways to communicate.

Julian could not recall talking so much since his Academy days.  

After ensuring Elim was asleep, he returned to his own cabin to verify the same was true of Ezri; he did not get any sleep himself, that night.  Next, he shared a long, apologetic breakfast with Ezri and the O’Briens, where he caught them up with every detail of his life from the preceding year.  Miles prodded him about the wedding, and Julian mentioned ‘apparently missing the invitation’ to Miles’s swearing-in as the Dean of Engineering. Begrudgingly, they agreed that this was fair.

Then he saw Kelas and Elim off from the docking ring, as they boarded a Bajoran freighter that would take them home.  He promised to write and comm them soon, and frequently thereafter, and also assured them he would take Elim’s position about the child into consideration.  Kelas offered congratulations, and thanked Julian for being so thoughtful, saying they were looking forward to getting to know him better.

Following this, he and Ezri were finally able to talk privately.  He addressed her as ‘Counselor Dax,’ and they wove through his worries together.  His feelings of insufficiency could be repurposed, he could provide care and attention to those in need without overworking himself, he could express his thoughts without fear of ridicule.  He was able to affirm that he genuinely had done his best with Dax, and that if all three of them would benefit from trying to separate it more permanently, he work tirelessly to figure out how to achieve this.  

At their sessions, Ezri was easy on him, encouraging him to define their relationship so she could compare it to her own goals and impressions.  It turned out they both rushed into intimacy based on past feelings, ones they had never taken the time to process, but Ezri did not fault him for this.  Together, they agreed to remain married as friends, cooperatively raising a child they were both interested in having, loving, and improving the life of. And this all made him feel _professional_ , like he really could make it as a career officer, balancing a work and home life just the way he wanted - meaning he would take slightly more of the former than the latter.

As the weeks passed, their session discussions shifted past this - they had reached a comfortable understanding of themselves and their relationships - and into Trill-language lessons.  Julian wanted to offer his daughter every experience in whatever language she preferred, and Ezri pointed out that Trilling was genuinely achievable before Standardized speech; Julian could not refuse the chance to talk to her _earlier_ than average.

Then they talked about Dax, about its involvement in the child’s future, and about whether or not it could be safely removed.  After the zhian’tara, Ezri was left expressing concern both _for_ Dax, and on its behalf; she worried that her original goal of helping it to heal had become convoluted by all o the pleasant memories she could not claim for herself.  She wanted to achieve at least a temporary distance, to determine if she was making her own decisions - a perspective Julian admitted to sharing. He decided to begin conducting his research immediately, pairing it with Ezri’s accounts from Dax’s other relations.  

Once Julian thoroughly dissected the contents of Jadzia’s letter, he retrieved his log entries about Verad, Curzon’s trial as Jadzia, and Jadzia’s emergency trip to Trill when Joran’s memories first resurfaced.  The first public documents about Joining were published while he was finishing his medical courses on Earth, and he sought these out, too, for good measure.

“I think I’ve got something,” he announced, one early evening.

“And I thought you were on the right track with androids,” Ezri said back.

She was in the bath - as she often was - because the heat of the water allowed Dax to interact better with the baby.  Julian had the basin installed in the spare bedroom within their family quarters, with the intention of removing it and converting the space into a nursery in a few months’ time.

“I was, but that’s years off,” Julian replied, coming into the spare room with a holo-imager in hand, “I meant for the symbionts, though; the AI will be for the hosts.  Do you want to see?”

Ezri nodded, and Julian humbly took a seat on the ledge of the bathtub, holding up the imager so Ezri did not need to crane her neck.  The display flickered into life, showing a Trill symbiont, as well as the nerves and synapses which connected it to its humanoid host. He tapped on the widest of these nerves, enlarging the image and waiting a moment for the picture to adjust its clarity for the new magnification.

“This is based on the readings from Verad’s surgery,” Julian said, “I set my surgical tools to take measurements in the Infirmary whenever I was able, in case… well, in case something like this happened.”

He indicated a broken point in the nerve, where Dax had not connected itself to Verad.  The images came from the upper end of Julian’s autosuture, which offered the closest and least obstructed view of the precise area in question.  

“I believe Dax consciously chose not to affiliate with Verad.  Think about it!” he leapt up, thrilled to be on the verge of _adventure_ once again, “whenever a host is dying and a symbiont is in danger, it’s moved to a new one, matched up by the surgeon, but then _it_ initiates the connection.  I think it was hoping it could be returned to Jadzia, or else it was willing to die trying.”

“What does that tell us?” Ezri asked, using both arms to pull herself up; she worked to meet Julian’s gaze directly, even though he was standing, now.

“Oh, a lot of things,” Julian went on, listing them with his fingers unfolding enthusiastically in succession, “Dax is sentient and capable of making life-or-death decisions.  Dax could have very well done something before it was taken out of Jadzia to help her remain in stasis longer, something like providing a sudden burst of energy or nutrients…”

He scrolled to a different holoimage, explaining his recordings of Jadzia’s vitals when he closed her wound for the first time.

“Or it could be something much more complex, like… pleasant memories or images, a feeling of _hope_ or strength… I can’t tell exactly, but I know it had a _definite_ effect on Jadzia’s status after the removal.  When she was dying,” Julian braced himself to continue, “it couldn’t duplicate that effect.  It’s clear that Dax cared about her, and it’s probably cared for all of its hosts.”

“What if it hasn’t?”

“You’re really the only one who can answer that,” Julian said, shutting off the holoimager.

He returned to the tub-ledge and offered Ezri his hand, taking on her weight before she was fully standing on her own, helping her step over it and retrieve a towel from the hook on the wall.  Then he wrapped her up in this, watching her face closely while she considered the question.

“None of the memories _I_ have are coming from a position of hostility,” Ezri eventually decided.  

“So Dax _cares_ and is capable of exercising that in real, practical scenarios.  It _is_ a separate entity, with its own thoughts and feelings and personality!”

“I’ve been saying that for more than a year, now,” Ezri replied, teasingly, “thanks for listening.”

“No, I know you have.  You figured out the mental health, and I’m going to figure out the physical,” he paused solely for his own indulgence in dramatic effect.  “After a few trials, I think I _really_ could separate Dax from you, safely.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

Julian did; Julian knew a _lot_ of words to say, each one testing the patience of Ezri’s calm demeanor.

“It would depend on a lot of variables, of course.  We’d need to wait until after the baby, first of all.  Then I would need to establish some form of communication with Dax, then make sure it’s theoretically possible to duplicate with other Joined symbionts.  And then there’s the matter of Dax’s connection with you appearing _loose_ in the ultrasounds, I’ll have to research that further.  It probably comes as no surprise that the Symbiosis Commission isn’t exactly forthcoming about the Joining procedures, and it’s not as though I can ask _you_.”

While he teased her, he ruffled the towel along her shoulders and back, before reaching around to pat carefully at her thighs and tummy.  She rested her weight on him easily, casually, and grinned against his arm as he talked about Dax.

“--because Dax _does_ seem to care about you, that leads me to believe some physical modification is required as part of the Joining process, something you missed that Dax can’t make up for alone.  But that doesn’t mean we can’t test it with other symbionts, or else change the nature of the physical changes in every future Joining, to allow the host and symbiont a chance to end the partnership--”

“‘Nothing is permanent except your spots and your symbiont,’” Ezri recited, “that’s from a coloring book me and my brothers had as kids.”

“They really do indoctrinate you, don’t they,” Julian said, astonished.  

Ezri shrugged and expressed how she was already bored of the topic by the time she was six years old, and how it seemed to work out favorably, thus far.  

“But I _know_ you and I won’t be that kind of parent,” Ezri concluded.  “We’re not going to force our child into anything she is not ready and willing to do.”

***

“He’s going to change for us,” Elim mused, “and he’s going to _change us_.”

He had taken to sitting outside on the balcony with Kelas, crowded together on a single chaise lounge, flattened and turned sideways.  Most nights, the dust was unbearable, but by the early morning, the dew weighed down enough of it to make sitting outside without a breathing apparatus a tempting possibility.  Elim had not felt so unrestricted in a long time, and Kelas always expressed humble gratitude when Elim shared this fact with them.

“Changing to accommodate a loved one is merely a testament to the partnership,” Kelas replied.

“Be sure to never ask about his parents, with that kind of philosophy,” Elim advised.  “And I don’t mean it negatively, I don’t need reassurance.”

“Very well.”

Elim returned to his study of the vines he was growing, hesitantly creeping up the wall from their dirt-filled pots on the patio floor.  

“He said he would take your position into consideration?” Kelas asked, after a while.

Often, Elim would replay what he remembered of their encounter at Quark’s, preserving it, distilling it, and getting Kelas’s opinion on it.

“Yes, about the child,” Elim said.  “That irritatingly fertile man doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into, coming here.”

“His family would be welcome here,” Kelas gently reminded him.  “We _do_ need all the able hands we can get.”

Elim shook his head, frustrated that he was unable to articulate his original point.  Not that he minded conceding to the whims of Kelas’s more forgiving moods, but still. He scooted closer, and Kelas reinforced this behavior with a soft squeeze on his forearm.

“I mean… I struggle to believe he’s being genuine.”

“I thought he was the most honest man you’ve ever known.  Haven’t you said that?”

“No, far from it.  I thought so too, once, but… I’m not so sure.  I struggle to distance myself from the fact I have tampered with his marriage, one I had assumed he was quite happy in.”

Kelas tutted their tongue.

“I doubt you did as much reading _outside_ of the Order as I did,” they began, “but he needn’t ruin his marriage to be with you, or with both of us if he chooses.  We haven’t seen supportive family systems on Cardassia in our lifetimes, you and I, but we could bring them to recurrence.”

“I have never heard infidelity sound so noble,” Elim prodded, “and I had the misfortune of knowing my father.”

“You cannot be ruining a marriage that is designed to include you.”

“You _are_ a radical,” Elim said, with the same reverence the words always carried when he addressed them to Kelas.

“I think affection should be freely given between parties that agree to it,” Kelas went on, illustrating their point by pulling themself in closer against Elim’s side.  “It needn’t all be marital, or intimate. You could not _count_ the days I lived through only because a Bajoran held me and told me I _had_ _to_ , that I was capable.”

“I didn’t mean to force you to recall any--”

“I don’t mean it negatively,” Kelas quipped.  “Next time he schedules a videocomm, I’ll make sure both of us are back from work, and we will sort this out.  You need to keep looking forward; you _are_ deserving and capable of affection.”

“I am,” Elim repeated, with Kelas immediately recognizing his progress with another gentle knead.

“Now…” Kelas led in a soft voice, the one they usually fell into when they were getting sleepy, “which of these herbs of yours makes the best relaxant tea?”

When Elim stood, he kept his hand firmly around Kelas’s, leading them along the perimeter of the patio.  Together, they searched through the pots and planters, until they found a lightly-scented sprig that matched Kelas’s specifications.

***

Julian made a habit of sending videocomms to Cardassia, as often as Elim’s household computer was cooperative in receiving them.  The practice began in his own quarters, while Ezri lounged in bed beside him and wrote letters to Lenara. She gave frequent updates and insights into her research, and shared each of Julian’s breakthroughs with Lenara, as they worked toward achieving Disjoining.  But then, as Ezri required more space and more time to sleep, and Julian became more engrossed in his experiments, he spent the vast majority of his time working in the Infirmary office. Sending comms from there was just as easy, although it lacked the warmth and privacy of his home; patients and nurses shuffled in and out of earshot, and he felt nervous describing some of his ideas of a relationship to Elim and Kelas in these conditions.

One evening, as he was at his desk trying to wean himself from raktijino to green tea with the hope of getting some rest, he received a notification on his screen in Cardassi.  He smiled in his usual exhausted, handsome way as he answered, greeting Elim and Kelas quietly. There was a glow to his face even as he rested his chin against one folded hand, grating along the beard his relentless cycle of sleepless nights had allowed him to grow.

Elim spoke of the recent expansions to the Bajoran school, and how it was projected to include curriculum for university-aged students within the coming months.  

“That’s good news,” he said, “And your garden?”

“Vibrant and well-enjoyed by our neighbors,” Kelas answered on Elim’s behalf, beaming with pride.

“I’m considering installing a secondary terrace within the _Rekess_ ancestral ruins,” Elim explained.  “The area has long been deserted, but as far as I know the structure is still standing.  It has a good central location for relief efforts.”

Julian watched the screen closely, grinning as Kelas took the opportunity to nuzzle their cheek against Elim’s, no doubt appreciating the selfless turn Elim’s volunteerism had taken.  Julian appreciated it, as well. Hearing Elim describe his own plans for relief efforts raised a sense of contentment within Julian, as he realized that perhaps his spirit had rubbed off on Elim after all.  

“How is _your_ family?” Kelas asked.

“Oh, _phenomenal_ ,” said Julian, with only the barest hint of sarcasm creeping in.  “Really, they are. Ezri’s doing great, we talked as much as we could about names, we’re making great progress with Dax, I’ve refitted our quarters… it’s _exciting_!”

“Forgive me,” Elim waited to interrupt, “but I was under the impression humans chose names for their children long before their births.  Is that not so with Trill?”

“That’s right,” Julian said, “The Trill alphabet _is_ their spots, and we’re going to pick out something… how did Ezri phrase it… ‘vaguely English sounding’ as a compromise.”

“That is exciting,” Kelas agreed.  “And it isn’t as though names are permanent, if it turns out not to suit her.”

“Kelas has changed theirs twice,” Elim teased.

“And Elim has never used his inherited name, and I cannot say I blame him.”

Julian gave a friendly nod, and finally managed a sip of his decaffeinated tea.

“Mm,” he said, as he set the cup aside, “the only things that are permanent are one’s spots, and the people one cares for.”

Again, Kelas agreed, “that’s very nice.”

“A surprisingly mature perspective,” Elim added, lightheartedly. “What a shock it will be for her to meet her - what was the term?”

“Taya,” Julian supplied.  “A Trill term for any relation an individual shares _without_ blood.  Generally, it’s used to explain familial ties created over the lifetimes of a symbiont, like Ezri’s brother now being associated with Jadzia’s--”

“I’m not sure how it applies, but I imagine her meeting her Taya Garak,” Elim went on, “and realizing there is nothing permanent in our society; even our scales shed.”

“Families,” Julian told him.  “And it’s applicable because you’re… you’d be her father’s partner.  You _will_ be.”

Elim did not immediately respond to this, always choosing to conveniently forget the details of their arrangement so Julian would blush and explain them again.

“We’re going to raise her here, at least for a few years, where it’s safe and stable,” Julian went on, predictably, “I’ll visit as often as I can, and you’re always welcome here.  Then Ezri is looking into reassociating with Lenara, after we’ve published our research. I can’t imagine they’ll be able to argue, after she arrives on Trill and removes her symbiont.”

“How simply _fascinating_ ,” said Elim.  

“Essentially, we need to find the best method for consistently interpreting the cues given by Dax, and theoretically by other symbionts.  They’re known to use bioluminescence - there are some intriguing prospects, there - as well as vibration and--”

Julian trailed off, eyes and attention drawn to a flashing button beside his console; he was receiving another communication, and had muted his own communicator badge in favor of the light alert system.  He preferred to give all of his attention to Kelas and Elim, especially on slow evening shifts, so this must have been an emergency.

“...Julian?” Elim asked, several times.

“Hang on, I… it must be Ezri.  Hang on.”

With Elim’s insistence and a huge, nervous smile on his face, Julian ended the transmission and switched to the secondary.  It was voice-only, and it was Colonel Kira, reporting from Julian and Ezri’s quarters.

“Is she alright?” Julian asked, rushing away from the console to grab his kit, before realizing he needed to stay within range of the microphone.  He sat back down, bouncing his leg impatiently.

“She’s fine, you just told me to call when contractions were--”

“Right, right, yes.  I’m on my way now. Sorry, go ahead!”

“When contractions were at--”

“Did you start the water?  Start the water, Ezri can help you set up the monitor, or I can… _sorry_ , Colonel, go ahead.”

“That’s fine, Julian.  Why don’t we discuss it person?” her voice was light, more unworried than Julian had ever heard it, and it was enough to help him relax.

“I’m on my way, Bashir out.”

***

Through the night, Kira remained there with them in their cabin, holding tight to Ezri’s hand, chanting rhythmically to calm Julian down.  After nine long hours but no other complications, their daughter was with them.

Julian did not know what to say, where to _begin_.  Taking consolation in facts and figures, he recorded the baby’s measurements before announcing them, repeatedly checking her breathing as Kira helped Ezri out of the bath and into the bed.

Sighing in some combination of exhaustion, adrenaline, and joy, Ezri wrapped herself in the soft robe they set aside for this occasion, and took her daughter into her arms.

“I’ll be in my office,” Kira excused herself, “ _please_ call if you need anything.  I won’t be sleeping, don’t worry about it.”

“Thank you,” Ezri said.

“Yes, Nerys, thank you,” Julian echoed, with great appreciation.  “Isn’t she _amazing_!”

It was not a question but an observation, as Julian carefully settled himself down beside his wife and child, wiping the sweat from Ezri’s brow before patting the baby’s back.  

Ezri’s eyes were shut, but she nodded in agreement nonetheless.

“You won’t hate me if I try to get some sleep, will you?” she asked.

“Far from it,” Julian replied, kissing the spots on one side of her forehead.

Ezri went on listing excuses, even though Julian did not feel they were necessary; she could not see him waving his hand in dismissal.

“I’ve never done that before,” she explained, “ _wow_.  And Dax… I thought Dax was on its way out, too.  Can you give it a tranquilizer? Or spiked raktijino, I haven’t had raktijino in _months_ … no wait, I don’t like it, and I want to go to bed… Julian?”

“Yes, darling, don’t worry about it.  You did wonderfully, good night.”

He considered calling Kira back to help him disassemble all of the monitors installed in the guestroom, covering most of the floor-space between the double bed and the temporary bathtub; his time was all going to be occupied by the baby, but still he worried about Ezri waking in the night and stumbling over something in the darkness.  So, he resolved to take the baby and situate her in a warmed _isolette_ , doing what cleaning he could between checking on her and on Ezri.  He did not expect to get any sleep, either.

She _was_ amazing, Julian thought each time he caught even the briefest glimpse of her.  

Her skin was a delicate blend of the colors provided by both parents, and her spots ran in a reddish-brown over all of the expected places.  In addition, Julian noticed a small patch of them on the back of her left hand: a birthmark. Already, her hair showed a tendency to curl, wet as it was from her ordeal.  Julian reached in through the gloved opening to pat her hair dry, and watched as she reacted to the touch. He wished it was warmer, less sterile, but it was always best to observe hybrid babies in controlled conditions, mirroring the womb to make the transition as painless as possible.  Without this, there was no safe way to determine if her parentage resulted in any special requirements. She responded positively to touch, a nutritional formula, Julian’s voice… he could not be any more in awe of her.

At one point, she did cry, but the sound was well masked by the incubator, and it did not cause Ezri to stir. _Mirroring unique natal circumstances_ , Julian thought to himself, as he switched on the incubator’s best feature.  The base of it hummed at a low, soft frequency, and emitted a dim light, intentionally instructed by the heavy cushions inside; it was made to feel like Dax was situated just beside her.

By the time the morning shift began, Julian had cleared away most of the monitors.  And he had taken to calling the baby _Rali_.  It was spelled out on her shoulder, perhaps the easiest phonetic spots for him to read, wide and positioned in the same place as Ezri’s name was.  With all of the talking he did to her, he needed to call her _something_.

Ezri joined their conversation that afternoon, claiming she had never slept better.  Julian laughed at that, and reminded her not to get used to it. Then, taking great pride in doting on the other two, Julian brought the isolette right up to the bedside, allowing Ezri the chance to feed Rali while he went to gather a suitable breakfast for himself and Ezri.

“What do you think of ‘Rali’?” he called bashfully from the kitchen, where he was consulting with the replicator for a Trill neonatal supplement.

“Rali?” Ezri said, into a yawn.

“It’s there on her shoulder, just like yours.  I thought it might… sound vaguely English,” Julian said.

“You’d be the best judge of that.”

When he returned, Ezri was fumbling with the large gloves until she could brush aside the blanket from Rali’s shoulder, reading the series of spot-letters in question.

“It’s nice,” she decided, “I like it.”

“Did, er, did Dax sleep?” Julian asked, setting down a tray on the bed for the two of them to share from.  “And I did get you a raktijino, if you really did want it.”

“We’ll see,” Ezri said, eyeing it suspiciously.  And Dax? Yeah, I guess so. It seemed so _loud_ during the birth, didn’t it seem loud?”

“It _was_ very active, every time I got a look at the monitors,” Julian said.  “I’ll make sure it’s alright, here.”

After a short absence to retrieve his tricorder from the pile of equipment, he helped Ezri to recline, shrugging when she asked to continue eating while he ran his scans.

“No, it’s okay, I can wait.  I was just--”

“Go ahead, but it’ll only take a moment, you know.”

She set down the soy-and-blueberry blend Julian ordered her, and resigned herself to raising her shirt, enough for Julian to touch Dax’s anchor-location with the scanner.

“I’ll have to keep an eye on it,” he said.  “Unfortunately, your Commission doesn’t release much of its research.  I haven’t seen _any_ postpartum entries about Joined Trill.”

“Well… I know they exist.  The Trill I mean, not the entries.”

“Right.  Just try to rest a while longer, I’ll be right here.”

Julian took a closer look at the scans while Ezri rolled over on the bed, facing the calming scene offered by the viewport.  Dax was only loosely tethered - Julian had seen that before - but its movement during the birth was more extreme. Julian wondered if it was exhausted, too, or if it was truly interested in being removed from Ezri.  Whether this was from a position of love for her, or pain of its own, Julian could not yet tell. But he took attentive notes and measurements, determined to chart Dax’s progress, and to establish a sure form of contact.

***

When Rali was nearing six months old, Dax had calmed enough from its separation with her to begin expressing itself in ways Julian and Ezri could read.  Otherwise, it remained too active to give consistent vibrations, and Julian suggested they switch to studying the light it sometimes produced.

Their breakthrough came when Rali was occupied with an edible finger-paint Ezri requested from the replicator, one she had used before with some patients who were not inclined to speaking.  Julian remarked that this description could cover Dax, just as well, and stooped down on the floor beside Rali to watch her make spots on the cardstock by tapping her fingers. By now, she was able to rest on her belly, propped up by her arms and aided by a cushion, and she wiggled her fingers happily within the little pot of squishy paint.  

Ezri was working through some casenotes with the same vigor that Rali leant her stack of blank cardstock.  Julian glanced back and forth between them.

“Shame that doesn’t spell anything,” Julian said, lifting one of the pages Rali had finished with, outlining the shapes with his index finger.

“Don’t worry, your child still has time to be a prodigy,” Ezri said, taking a momentary look at Rali’s painting.

Julian made an attempt at pronouncing the shapes in Trill, chittering and trying to tighten his lips in the correct way; this was enough to warrant Ezri’s full attention.  She slid slowly out of her chair and joined the other two on the floor, asking to take another look. Suddenly going silent, Julian passed her the first paper, and Rali went on through the stack of blank cards without heeding the interruption, babbling contently to herself.

“What?” Ezri asked, after Julian remained quiet longer than usual.

“Oh, um… histology!  We’ll… hang on, stay right where you are.”

With a quick, grounding squeeze on both of her shoulders, Julian used her position to help himself stand, and then rushed to the house replicator, where he inputted his medical clearance code.  This way, he was able to obtain a range of basic medications and testing implements without a trip to the Infirmary. He put together a kit of eosin dye - one which reacted with fluorescent tissue to produce red highlights on an image.  Ordinarily, it was best utilized on tissue cut and mounted beneath a microscope, but Julian was conducting his research on a larger - and strictly internal - subject; he was going to use the dye to track Dax’s light emissions, and to turn them into speech.

“Topical disinfectant 301A,” he requested, when he was finished

He approached Ezri again with all of his new materials tucked in his arm, scrubbing his hands together until the disinfectant solution dissolved.  

“We’ll have to…” he knelt beside her, then changed his mind and stood, careful to balance his materials without dropping any.  “Perhaps the Infirmary is better, or at least the bedroom… I can call Kira and--”

“Julian, _what are we doing_?” Ezri prompted him.

“For Dax!” he announced.  “What if it communicates with the same letters Trill humanoids do?”

As he explained the rest of his theory, Ezri agreed with his original plan to call Kira.  Once she arrived to supervise Rali, Ezri accompanied him to the Infirmary where - behind a partition and beneath a dimmed light - he dabbed the middle of her chest with the dye.

“Now, try and focus on Dax’s thoughts.  I need you to confirm for me exactly what it’s thinking, so we can build an alphabet.  Can you do that right now? Is it calm enough?”

Ezri giggled and admitted that it was intently focused on Julian’s hands, as they expertly felt for its movements, and swirled the dormant chemical over Ezri’s skin.  

“That… should be fine,” he said, blinking slowly as if to put off the embarrassment.

He drew his hands away, shut off the overhead light completely, and watched for Dax’s subtle glow.  It brightened and dimmed at a slow, consistent pace, and the clear fluid on Ezri’s chest gradually shifted to red, beading up and forming tiny speckles.  Deciding it would be best to preserve and use under a microscope after all, Julian called for a sample card from the replicator, and hurried to press it to Ezri’s chest before the droplets could roll out of place, affected by each breath she took.  

With his hand over her heart, he assured her.

“I think this is it,” he said.  “This is just what all of us were missing.”

His hypothesis was built upon and confirmed over the following months, until Dax produced consistent thoughts which Ezri could confirm the presence of, in her own mind.  It told them it knew how to leave, and it would help them prepare, if they wanted to proceed.


	15. 8.15 - Changes of Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian takes a risk, and Kira is there to catch him when Starfleet refuses. Concepts of autonomy, marriage, and family are all opening up for debate.

As they had done quite early in their relationship, Ezri and Julian began receiving mail again.  Physical letters and wrapped parcels were beamed into their home from transport ships, originating from Earth, Cardassia, and Trill.

From Earth, they were sent personal effects from the O'Briens.  Miles and Keiko offered their belated congratulations for the baby, and provided all manner of hand-me-downs and advice, alongside handwritten, heartfelt cards about Julian and Ezri's suitability for parenthood.  Miles often wrote about genuine teething foods being better than their replicated counterparts, while arguing with Keiko in the margins that the same did not apply to the used clothes and toys she sent from Molly's collection.

 _They don't need these, Keiko - he's still friends with that TAILOR_ , Miles wrote on one message, in large enough letters for Julian to imagine the sarcasm in his voice.

Julian never gave Miles the satisfaction of being correct; while Elim did try his hand at making clothing for Rali, Julian kept the fact fondly to himself.

The outfits Elim sent were always boldly patterned and ornately decorated.  Julian's favorites were cast in calming lavenders and blues, with geometric trim and soft tassels surrounding the cuffs of the sleeves, dangling for Rali's amusement.  Julian wondered where Elim found such an array of unusual fabrics in this period of post-war scarcity, and Elim always wrote the same reply:

 _I take pride in my work, and in my family_.

Eventually, Julian would repeat the question merely to receive the sentiment, taking the same refuge in repeated affirmation that Elim did, although Elim would not admit to the similarity in clear terms.  After a few of these messages - and likely to skirt the issue - Elim sent along another gift for Rali: a stuffed approximation of a Trill symbiont.

 _And your family_ , the simple note said.

From Trill, Ezri continued receiving letters from Lenara, who was curious about how she and Dax were adjusting after their exhausting zhian'tara.

Ezri shared copies of the prints Dax produced; Julian took notes to describe the dyeing process, as well as the way questions were posed to the symbiont.  After the demonstration of proof, it was easier to bargain with Lenara; she and Kahn - as it turned out - were both hesitant to take risks. But eventually, Lenara wrote accounts of her thoughts, and sent back cards dyed by Kahn, in confirmation.  

Their experiment was sound in practice, and could be duplicated.  Julian and Ezri were thrilled, but did not take a break from their work.

“So… we go back to the Commission,” Ezri reasoned, “and we give them proof.”

She recorded further interviews with Dax, and sent transcriptions to each Commissioner on the board.  Only one of them replied - a young man who gave his Joined name as Diam, without a first or familial name attached.  Ezri explained that this behavior was not unusual, based even on her limited experience with the Commission; they tended to take Joining as the most noble achievement a Trill could hope for, and held their symbiont above themselves.  Regardless, Diam expressed a desire to try his hand at communicating internally, and requested an eosin kit from ‘the laboratory of the esteemed Dax.’ Smirking, Ezri took one from Julian’s collection, and sent it back to Trill on the next transport.

“He sounds like he just wants to… I don’t know,” Ezri said, skimming his letter again after the kit was on its way, “he wants to be able to serve Diam better, I bet.”

“Then we need to remind him Joining is like a marriage,” Julian said lightly.  “And both parties should have a say.”

She rolled her eyes at him, and nudged his side with her elbow.  He stood facing a screen in their cabin, where he magnified Dax’s dye-prints for study.  Ezri was holding Rali, feeding her from a warmed bottle, keeping her a safe distance from the screen, which she otherwise would have ran her hands over.  

“We could give them to other Trill in Federation, too,” Julian reasoned.  “They might have a perspective a bit closer to yours. I mean, Jadzia… she knew what traits of her own she inherited from Curzon.  She used that to Reassociate with Captain Sisko, especially.”

“Right.”

“We might see other officers who recognize their components separately.”

“I think that’s a great idea.”

With painstaking attention to detail, Julian compiled the complete records of each active Trill officer posted within reach of their communications array.  He found twenty-two in total, Joined and serving aboard ships and other stations in the sector, and he prepared for each of them a personalized eosin kit. Attached, he gave a brief of Ezri's research into what they officially termed 'Reassociative Trauma' and explained the process of introducing the dye to the symbiont to establish communication.  

"I'm curious to see if any of you might share similar experiences," Julian recorded for his video to accompany each kit.  He tried to retain a professional tone. "The Symbiosis Commission is more focused on keeping symbionts within hosts than verifying all parties are mentally well.  Despite your Initiation training, you may find discomfort when handling your symbiont's thought processes - if you want to confirm this, please use the included dyes and microscope, and approximated visual alphabet.  You are welcome to study the prints yourself, or return them to me for interpretation," he managed to contain his wincing to only a fraction of a second, as he prepared to fall back on his impressive record to get the Trill officers on his side, "I would be grateful for your help in expanding my portfolio of... groundbreaking inter-species research, under the Carrington Nominees Grant... signed, Doctor Julian Bashir, Chief Medical Officer, _Deep Space Nine_."

For good measure - even though the underwhelming response to his recent achievements made him unsure - he included explanations of his long-running immunotherapy project on Bajor, his vaccine for the Teplan Blight, and the culmination of his work with the Changelings.  

He was eager to learn if Ezri and Dax were alone in their suffering, but he doubted this was the case.  While Dax was certainly an unusual symbiont - refusing a record number of prospective hosts, having one of its Joinings erased from the Commission records, yet still seeking to reassociate with past friends and relatives - Julian hoped its poor treatment was not endured in vain.  With similar accounts from other Trill, he and Ezri could seek new, ethical counseling practices for symbionts, and could rearrange the Commission's entire Initiation process, to place equal emphasis on both parties involved in each Joining. He had learned that rushing into commitments was perhaps a safe course of action, but not always the best, in the long-term.

As the weeks wore on, the replies Julian received were intermittent.  There were three automated responses, sent to inform Julian that the intended recipients were on temporary assignments out of range of their usual main computer.  Then, finally, he heard from an officer in their own words - Commander Minick, the science officer presiding over the _Cinnae_ , a small research vessel.  She left Julian a brief recording, expressing concerns about Dax, citing some of its past mistakes as serious infractions, well-known by the Commission.

"I am not certain publicizing these facts is truly in the symbiont's best interest," she said.  "I'm sure you know, by now, what chances the Commission has taken to preserve Dax's life, in the first place.  Why would you jeopardize that?"

“Because it deserves autonomy, and should make decisions for itself,” Julian mumbled to himself, as he looked up the ship’s current coordinates.

The signal was blocked when Julian tried to send a reply, hoping to set up a time they could converse in real-time.  For the next two days, he kept trying, but was met with the same error message.

On the third day, while Ezri was out with Rali, Julian finally received a message from the _Cinnae_.  He was at his station in the Infirmary, babysitting the computer while it cycled through the results of routine vaccinations.  The flashing light of a new communication was much more interesting, and he leaned over to switch the message to the main screen.

It was not the reserved, middle-aged Trill officer who greeted him, but an older man in an admiral's uniform.  Blinking nervously, Julian introduced himself.

"To what do I owe the honor, Admiral...?" he led.

"Haftel," the man supplied.  "Starfleet Research, Daystrom Institute."

"Oh... yes, sir, I believe I've heard your name in some cybernetics circles," Julian recalled it, but only alongside negative news.  "What can I do for you?"

Haftel did not exchange pleasantries.

"You can stop using Federation resources to undermine a member organization."

"I'm sorry?" Julian leaned forward in his seat, incredulous.

"The Symbiosis Commission, Doctor.  Commander Minick here informs me that you've written to her and dozens of other Trill officers in order to change the Commission's initiation policies?"

"I'm..." Julian faltered, "no, I don't want to change it, I want to verify the health of its participants.  I'm a doctor, I'm working with a licensed counselor, and we're looking to establish--"

"What you are doing is interfering with the principles of an organization the Federation has deemed ethical, to the point of _planetary admission_.  Can you not see how incredibly offensive other Trill might find your alleged 'research?'"

"It wasn't my intention to offend, only to gather more samples.  And I wouldn't _exactly_ say 'planetary admission,' Admiral; if what I'm doing is First Contact with the Trill symbionts, then they wouldn't necessarily be included in contract established _solely_ by Trill humanoids."

The admiral scowled, and reached for the exact line of verbal ammunition Julian expected.

"You are interfering with the practices of a lesser developed race, in that case, and I cannot allow that.  You are to cease and desist contacting Trill Starfleet Officers about any aspect of your project."

"Does that include my wife?" Julian grumbled, bitterly sarcastic.

"Doctor," Haftel said calmly.  "Your career, your achievements... have been remarkable."

"Have they," Julian was unconvinced.  

"Don't tarnish your reputation simply to--"

Julian stood, aligning his eye-level with Haftel's, on the screen.  His hands slid along the console, gripping for purchase, frantic as he prepared to speak.

"This isn't about my achievements _or_ my reputation, it's about yours.  The Federation hasn't been supportive of me at all since my genetic background was released.  Hell, you've been more supportive of _my father_ , because he changed something when he... couldn't understand it anymore."

"Doctor, your genetic enhancement is not the Federation’s primary conce--"

"No, of course it isn't," Julian went on, speaking quickly, "but you won't promote me, you won't publicize my accomplishments, you won't fund my research, and you don't want me speaking to my wife - a _Joined Trill_ \- because I'm a liability to _your_ reputation."

"I was unaware of your marriage to Counselor Dax, perhaps--"

"I resign," Julian said.

Before Haftel could say another word, Julian jammed his finger into the flashing button, ending the communication.

And, just like that, he felt uncomfortable in his uniform.  Not undeserving, but overqualified - just like his father would have wanted.  He thought about his father's recent release from internment, and how that, in turn, focused the eyes of the Federation on _him_.  Now Julian was the oddity, the spot of dye beneath the microscope that the scientists refused to study.

His first instinct was to run away, and pretend nothing had changed.  But he had learned his lesson in the preceding years; he was done running.  He had made the decision to quit, and he would face its repercussions.

Stifling the compulsion to make his hands into fists, he stood and crossed them calmly behind his back - taking inspiration from several of Dax's hosts - and walked out of the briefing room and toward the nearest turbolift.  He muttered 'promenade' to the control panel, already entertaining the idea of stopping at Quark's. Even if that was too predictable a destination, he did not feel like bothering Ezri during her office hours, and he was afraid of confronting Kira.  But the news had not broken yet, he reasoned, and it was well within his routine to go to the bar.

So, at the last moment, he veered from the entrance and went to the Replimat, instead, to order himself a coffee and sit in solitude.

His thoughts kept spiraling back toward fatherhood, unnervingly clear while its surroundings were fuzzy.  What was he to do? Would he be able to give Rali the best possible future after leaving the most distinguished organization in the galaxy in disgrace?  Was that not the same fear Richard Bashir had, thirty years earlier?

He sighed into his empty cup, already feeling too jittery to get up and order another.  Raktajino could do that to an anxious mind and an empty stomach. Perhaps he should get breakfast.

Julian worried he had been selfish, and thrown away the lives of his family in the process, like he had not learned anything at all.  

Standing and approaching the replicator again, he tried to calm himself.  Ezri was still a commissioned officer - one with potential for promotion - and Rali would be safe and accommodated as long as they were on the station, or anywhere in Kira's jurisdiction, really.

His father's selfish actions may have gotten him into the Federation, but Julian had taken himself out of it.  And that was some kind of progress, he thought sourly, as he tapped his clearance code into the replicator.

 _Denied_ , the screen said.  The word flashed once, accompanied by a high-pitched _beep_ , and Julian looked on in horror.  He did not make mistakes - that of all things was at the forefront of his mind - and he tried inputting the code again.  

He felt someone tapping his shoulder, and tried to maintain a neutral expression as he turned to meet them.  

They were a young Bajoran, one of Ro's deputies, and they quietly informed him that Colonel Kira wanted to speak to him in her office.  Sighing, Julian followed them, embellishing the entire scene in his mind so that he was stripped of his insignia and rank pips, and marched along in metal cuffs.

But none of that came to be.  The young officer took him up to Ops and deposited him in Kira's office without another word.  He was aware of the doors sliding shut, sealing in the middle, and he almost understood how Elim could feel claustrophobic, even in the expanse of his tailoring shop.  That was years ago... this was now...

Kira cleared her throat, as Julian drifted to the seat across from her.  She was seated already, and he could see the glare of her monitor reflecting on the viewport behind her.  She must have--

"I got an interesting personnel change request from Starfleet," she said.

Julian swallowed, and began apologizing immediately, profusely.

"I wasn't thinking of anyone but myself, I've let you down, I--"

"I'm not upset, Doctor," she said, but he could never tell from her voice.  " _Julian_ , look at me, I'm not upset.  Why would I be?"

It sounded like a rational progression of thought, but he was too upset, himself, to follow it.

"And you weren't being selfish," she continued, for his benefit.  "The report cites twenty-two Trill officers you reached out to, so you could--"

"Use them for my own experiments."

"... _No_ , so you could confirm they're all in healthy relationships with their symbionts, and that your wife and child aren't the only ones affected by Reassociative Trauma.  I've listened to every word of your research, Julian. Even if the Federation hasn't."

He was quiet for a while, before finally admitting he did not know what to say.  Kira did not rush him. Instead, she leaned forward in her chair, setting her arms on the desk, open and upward and inviting.  Julian was so accustomed to seeing her arms crossed, or her hands driven into her hips in frustration. Gradually, he brought his chin up, and looked at her - it felt like the gravity was set against him, but her eyes were steady, warm.  With his own, he grasped for her - for _guidance -_ and held on tight.

"They weren't even willing to _listen_ to you," Kira began.  "That's when it's time to walk away, and that's what you did.  I mean, they--! They just ignored everything you've done for them - you've been an exemplary officer."

"Thank you," Julian said, not believing it.

"I mean it.  They don't know how lucky they were."

Julian shrugged.

Everything Kira did conveyed anger - she clenched her jaw, shut her eyes, exhaled with a huff - but her voice was controlled, reined-in; it took Julian a moment to realize her anger was not directed at him, but at the injustice.  

"They never listened to Captain Sisko either, those-- those cowards, those _hypocrites_.  Every _week_ he was defending you to the flag officers, every _week_ he told them you were invaluable, that you weren''t a threat to us.  Of all the _ridiculous--_ "

"Colonel," Julian interrupted quietly, "if I may... I know Captain Sisko risked a lot to keep me here.  We didn't discuss it, but I knew he was the reason I stopped getting the relocation orders and... some of the harassment.  But now he's gone, and I've stepped too far out of the line that the Federation drew, a-and I'm sorry to leave you without a CMO."

Kira shook her head.

"Oh, no.  I have _no_ intention of sending you away," she said.  "And Starfleet can't bother you anymore, I'm not going to let them."

Still under the impression he was being lectured, Julian fidgeted in his seat.

"I'm a private citizen," he said, as the answer occurred to him.

"On a Bajoran station.  Why do you think I didn't keep my commission?"

"Because you--"

"You need to work with a group who's willing to listen to you, and take your experience into account," Kira told him.  "A group that supports what's best for your family. There's nothing wrong with leaving, if they're not keeping their end of the promise."

He cleared his throat and tried to settle himself again.  It was not unheard-of for Kira to come to his rescue, but her methods were not usually so... official.

"I, er... it wasn't my intention to--" he started.

"How would you like a post with the Bajoran Militia?"

Julian could only blink back at her, as he tried to expand the details within his mind.  

"I need people here I can trust," Kira added.

"I'm, um," Julian coughed, and grew quiet.  "I was planning to move to Cardassia, in a few years.  After Rali settles in with Ezri on... well, on Trill, ideally."

"Of course," Kira said, grinning tightly.  "But not right away."

"No..."

"Start in the Infirmary, finish your research, and then transfer to a relief center on Cardassia."

Julian's mind spun between all of the hypotheticals, unable to hold onto any one idea for too long.

"I expected Bajor to withdraw before then," he mumbled.

Kira shook her head and sighed.

"They never learn," she said.  "The long-term plan is to phase out of providing emergency relief, but to remain in the educational and agricultural sectors.  Cardassia's never known how to provide its own resources; we're going to sit them down and teach them. What do you say?"

Lost in thought, Julian furrowed his brow, but he reached out his hand when Kira offered hers forward, for him to shake.

"You take care of your family, I'll take care of mine," Kira said to him, warmly.  "Welcome aboard, Doctor. Let's get you a uniform..."

***

On Cardassia, Elim spent a great deal of time at the Bajoran relief centers.  Aside from the one in Cardassia City to aid the medical center, there were smaller establishments spread throughout the sector.  As the population fanned outward, away from the rubble and congestion that remained in the City center, Elim shifted his tactical attention to former wildlife preserves and residential areas.  He chose the Rekess region for its flatlands, its virtually untouched reserves of soil, and its fortified buildings.

Alongside Kelas, Natima, and Dedia, he led the way home from an advisory meeting at the Bajoran commissary.  Together, the four of them outvoted Gul Madred's propositions for a more nationalistic curriculum, and in order to ensure their position was taken seriously, they worked at the end of every week - on the one night the commissary was closed to the public - to prepare baskets of staple foods and water purification tablets for distribution.  Elim was finding _joy_ in doing his work anonymously, not the mere sense of safety the practice afforded him during his undercover assignments.  He contributed alongside equals in a group, while the building was closed, and it made him feel invisible, while still undeniably useful.

They were weaving through the ghosts of decorative gardens - Rekess once boasted the most elaborate floral installation in the Cardassian system - on their way to the province's namesake, a longstanding ancestral home in the middle of the grassland.  Elim and Kelas resided there, and offered the expanse of spare rooms to travelers in need; it gave both of them great satisfaction to use former servants' quarters to serve people who needed assistance as the nation rebuilt.

One garden on the outskirts of the property had been flattened, its barren soil razed and covered with the first stage of floorboards.

"Is that where the University is going to go?" Natima asked, gesturing to the square of cordoned-off land.

"Just for you, Professor," Kelas affirmed.  "But it will, yes."

"It will be a lot larger than that, in a few years' time," Elim clarified.  "We thought it best to open to a dozen students in a single field this upcoming solstice, rather than to no one at all."

"The monastery is opening around that time, as well," Kelas said.

Elim nodded.  

"That's right, the monastery.  And, with it, my single remaining Bajoran contact," Elim said, amused.

As they rebuilt with the help of Bajoran volunteers, Elim wanted to ensure they had a proper area for worship.  Kira did not contact him often from the station, but did promise a visit to christen the location. From their limited communications, Elim knew she was busy, and that only a religious pilgrimage was enough to motivate her to leave the station.

More often, she sent her new aide to the surface to coordinate further relief efforts and to schedule meetings.  Elim always enjoyed the chance to see Julian in person.

"I thought he was human," Dedia said brashly.  

Kelas answered on Elim's behalf, saying 'oh, he is,' while giving Elim's midsection a playful nudge.

"He's due in tonight," Kelas concluded.

Elim was quick to take a defensive tone, knowing Kelas was equally excited for their guest.

"We're discussing the Bajoran Agricultural Fund," Elim said dryly.  "Once I've cleared enough ash from the soil, we will start using the reclamators to keep nutrients available for year-round seeding."

"Seeding," Dedia replied.

"Seeding," Elim went on, "starting with Bajoran clover.  I hope you have recipes for _metcla_."

"Dozens."

Natima stepped between them, lowering her voice as well as the tension.

"It will be nice to have real food, though," she said.  "I imagine the entire neighborhood is tired of rations, after all this time."

"I've been baking for you for years," Dedia lamented.

Natima turned and pressed her forehead against her partner's, crests gently creasing as they met.  Kelas looked sideways at Elim, their own way of requesting a similar gesture, and Elim indulged them while the women explained they should be returning home.

"Wouldn't want to intrude," Dedia said, in closing.

"She would though; that's why I love her," Natima added, over her shoulder.

Elim watched them depart, and when he and Kelas were alone, he linked his arm through Kelas's.  For the rest of the short walk, they remained close, leaning their heads together - Elim had to stoop to compensate for the slight hunch in Kelas's back - and brushing one another's hands.  Elim's words caught in his throat each time Kelas touched his palm, in such an intimate display of trust and devotion.

"Will that be our only topic of discussion?" Kelas asked, in jest, "The Agricultural Fund?"

"The Agricultural Fund, the Colonel's visit to the monastery... all in all, our efforts to create a more welcoming environment for our partners."

Kelas smiled at that, because it was undeniably true.

When Julian met them within the ancestral home, beaming down from his loaned Bajoran shuttle in orbit, they did all they could to be accommodating, and Julian returned the favor.

Kelas soaked Paldar peppercorns for tea, which Julian sipped while sitting between the two of them, talking at length about his new assignment.

"It suits you," Elim complimented him.  "You do seem much happier."

"Kira's been--" Julian sighed, to emphasize his meaning, "--busy, but so, _so_ wonderful about this whole thing.  I watch Rali in the morning, through Ezri's lunch-break, then I take a few appointments, and I finish out the evening working on my research.  I'm, um, trying to replicate the conditions of Joining, to see whether we can remove Dax, since it's... expressed a desire to let Ezri have a break from _constantly_ helping it recuperate, and-- that... probably isn't what you want to hear about.  Kira's finishing a theology course before she comes to open the monastery, and then we're having the soil rec--" 

"I don't need to hear anything more about the reclamators, dear," Elim said, touching Julian's knee.  "I was enjoying your retelling of your typical day."

"Were you?"

"I honestly was," Elim assured.  "And I am... looking forward to the time such conversations will no longer be necessary.  When we will have spent the day in much closer proximity."

"Yeah," Julian chuckled.  "It's kind of difficult for me to get away for a lunch meeting, these days."

He took a long, slow sip of his tea.  Kelas wrapped their arm over his shoulders as he leaned forward and returned his cup to the table in front of him.

"Take all the time you need," Kelas said.  "Visit as often as you can."

"Oh, I will," Julian replied.  "I'd love to bring Rali, one of these times, but she gets nauseous in shuttles, like her mother, and--"

"What we mean to say, Julian, is that we are 'looking out for you,' as I believe the phrase goes," Elim said.

"You're a part of our family," Kelas added, leaning in to brush aside Julian's teacup, giving him room to recline in his seat and rest his feet on the table.

Elim touched Julian's chest with his palm.  There were no Federation tags beneath his shirt for Elim to cling to, only genuine warmth and a faint, steady heartbeat.  He settled his cheek over it, instead, feeling ridiculous for a mere millisecond, before Julian gently grasped his nape, and began stroking his hair.  

"And I can say for the first time, with complete honesty, that family is sacred on Cardassia," Elim admitted quietly, to keep himself occupied.  "My home."


	16. 8.16 - Major Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years pass, and the family unit nears the end of its necessary evolution. Elim and Kelas prepare to host a traditional Cardassian celebration, tailored to honor Julian's long-waited arrival.

For two years, the Cardassian public chose to abstain from hosting Observances of Hearth.  They were not extravagant by any means, but they did not feel _right_ , until the planet’s circumstances improved.  Observances of Hearth celebrated the family unit, and one of Elim’s most fervent political campaigns centered around returning the holiday to the public consciousness.  

He spent only a single term representing his sector, feeling far more comfortable when he was able to retire and conduct his work anonymously.  To him, his duty was repaying a debt, not facing the temptation to further his ambitions. If he were younger, and the cost had been worthwhile, he would have given in to them, too; he knew that, and learned to look at his progress with a satisfied gleam in his eyes.  He was making steps forward and upward, reaching out for assistance when he needed it, and sharing improvements with those around him.

With the help of the neighboring Bajoran relief unit, Elim used the length of his single term to ensure the medical center and university were fully stocked with the equipment and trained staff they required.  Before he left, his last act was sponsoring a political movement to extend definitions of marriage, as well as terms of adoption, allowing families of all designs to flourish. In the old system, children were neglected if their parentage was not verified before they reached a certain age.  Orphans were common, and the lack of approved adoptive families contributed further to the stigmatization the children faced. Elim disposed of all of that, allowing adults to wed and adopt regardless of their gender, fertility, or term of employment.

To capitalize on this, he spent his final day in office celebrating his marriage to Kelas.  Theirs was the first performed under the new allowances, and they both signed the registry on the desk in Elim's office, before going home together.

With Kelas, he moved into the _Rekess_ ancestral home full-time, leaving behind their apartment to a younger family of four who needed to be within walking distance of the hospital, for their son’s conditions.  Elim felt gratitude in passing over ownership, and focused his efforts on developing the gardens of his new homestead. These were made available to the community after the mere passing of an identity verification, allowing approved individuals to come inside and forage for fruits and herbs to take back to their own homes.  Elim spent much of his time within the garden, enjoying the open air and the fresh scent of grass and flowers.

Naturally, he pushed for the first Observance of Hearth to be held in the garden.  Kelas aided him in the final preparations, arranging seating and dishes and kettles for herbal tea.  One other preparation remained, of a more private variety: Elim needed to find the time to write to Julian.

There had been no falling out, only the inevitable hesitance created by distance.  Julian became incredibly busy, and after his visit alongside Kira to open the monastery, he had ceased visiting in person altogether.  That was a little over a year ago, and as Kira began to focus further on her religious studies - especially in order to contact Captain Sisko, her Emissary - Julian took over more responsibilities on the station, in addition to the unique needs of his family and his research.

Elim always feared he was being bothersome, whether he sent a written message for Julian to read in his own time or tried to schedule a video communication.  All he had to share concerned new legal propositions, while Julian, comparatively, drowned in the exhausting details of his career and family. Once, Elim wrote about his marriage, only for Julian to reply with test results from Dax, a note from Ezri, and a fingerpainting by Rali.  He tried not to feel insignificant, and Julian always managed a smile when they were able to meet over video, eager to assure Elim his significance was not at stake.

"I love you, whether you are _useful_ to me or not," Julian said, one evening.

Elim looked at him earnestly, the warmth in his gaze despite the lines beneath his eyes, the slight breathy quality to his voice, the curious scruff on his cheeks, chin, and neck.  Surely the fact he was speaking at all was evidence of this, in his state of obvious overexertion.

"You and I... we don't need to prove anything to one another," Julian added, after Elim had been silent for a long moment.  "We already _know_."

Slowly, Elim brought himself to smile, and Julian returned it.  They said their farewells, with Elim promising to pass on the well-wishes to Kelas when they awakened the next morning.

"And Elim?" Julian said, catching Elim with his finger reluctantly smoothing over the top of the button which would end the transmission.  "I'll see you _very_ soon.  I'm looking forward to spending that Observanceholiday with you."

Elim nodded, able to sleep comfortably that night and speak comfortably to Kelas the next morning.  They were nearly finished with their preparations, and chatted intermittently over breakfast and their walk through the garden.

The first Observance of Hearth was, at its core, _for Julian_.

As Elim finished trimming a rosebush, offering one of the clippings to Kelas to tuck into their hair, he allowed himself the twisted pleasure of one last hallucination.

He could see Julian off to the side, his daughter hoisted up to sit on his shoulders.  In Elim’s imagination, their differences were blurred together: she had orbital ridges, he himself had a pattern of spots, Julian wore his hair long and gray like Kelas ordinarily did.  Julian held forward one hand, waiting for Elim to take hold of it.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this,” Julian said.

Knowing he would later feel guilty if he did _not_ take the vision’s hand, Elim returned the gesture, before turning aside and asking Kelas to refresh his daily medication.  He had not hallucinated in more than a year.

"You're seeing Julian?" they asked calmly, reaching for their shoulder-bag right away.

Elim nodded and withdrew his hand from the vision.

“At least it was pleasant, I suppose,” he said, while Kelas fussed over him.

“It is going to be a great change to process,” Kelas reassured him.  “And this is merely a way that you cope. Not an ideal one, but one you are at least aware of, by now.”

“Fortunately for you.”

“Yes,” Kelas said, gently administering the syringe against a soft point on Elim’s arm.  “I knew it was _you_ , Elim, giving me cause to maintain my practice all this time.”

“You _radical_ sentimentalist,” Elim accused, lovingly.

“You’re one to talk.”

Because they were alone, shrouded in the diffused light that fought its way in through the flower bushes, Elim took hold of Kelas’s chin and brought them into a human-style kiss.

***

Ezri teased Julian about it often, claiming to share his confusion when he reached for his communicator with the wrong hand.

“I don’t have anyone inside me telling me to be left-handed, though,” he reasoned, always waiting until the last moment to figure out if she was joking or not

“You should, it might be helpful.”

“I’ll just move Dax to myself, then, shall I?”

Reaching with his _left_ hand to the Bajoran communicator he wore, he tapped it while scoffing back at Ezri.  Even after more than a year of wearing it, he was working to adjust.

“Constable,” he called, after the communicator beeped.  “Calling in to say I’m closing the vault for the day. Bashir out.”

Ro’s voice met him a few moments later, confirming receipt of the message, promising to record the timestamp before coming by to verify the vault’s security, herself.

The 'vault,' as it was colloquially known, safely stored Julian’s research.  It was installed in the Infirmary, where he and Ezri were now, with him sitting in his chair and her sitting atop the desk, running her fingers absently over one of the data-screens and kicking out her feet.

“I’ll go get Rali, unless you want me to wait for you?” she said, after Julian drew his hand away from his comm badge.

“I’m… done,” he said.  “There’s really nothing worth tampering with, today.  I finished perfecting the pH balances _weeks_ ago, and I can revert the temperature and viscosity to original settings almost instantly.”

“I’ll wait for you,” Ezri decided, voice still light and friendly.  “I’m not gonna put Dax into anything… gross… _viscous_.”

“Well, it’s too late for that, I’m afraid,” Julian said, closing the chamber in question, where he was modifying conditions for Trill symbionts to live, Disjoined.  “Trill pleural fluid is thick enough for it to maintain--”

“I’ll let you handle it,” Ezri said, holding up her hand in mock disgust.

With a good-natured grin, Julian stood up from his station, switched off his monitors, and clapped his hands together a single time.

“Right,” he said, “daughter.”

“Daughter,” echoed Ezri.

They still enjoyed holding hands as they strolled along the Promenade, reclining into the feeling of comfortable companionship.  To alleviate the loneliness they felt on the station, they indulged fully in the feelings of family they created, spending their time together, raising their daughter, and confiding in Kira.  

Upon seeing them through the window of Kira’s office, Rali raised her hands and excitedly waved at them.  Julian could see Kira leaning over to collect her from her cushioned seat on the floor, scooping her up and carrying her to the entryway.  The door swished open upon sensing Kira’s presence, and Julian and Ezri walked inside with their heads respectfully bowed.

“Vedek,” Julian said.

Kira sounded unduly surprised; she preferred her operational title, and promptly got back at Julian by addressing him as ‘Major.’

“I’m kidding, _Julian_ ,” she emphasized, as he took a seat.  “My confirmation was only last week. I guess I’m not used to it yet.”

“I don’t know if you ever will be,” Ezri added.

She sat down beside Julian, taking Rali from Kira’s arms and settling her on her own lap, instead.  Rali tended to tolerate the closeness for a few minutes at a time, before inevitably reaching her arms out for her father.  When Julian held her, she would speak a few words from her limited repertoire aloud, well-enunciated, and then the rest would be babbled exclusively to Julian’s ear, at a whisper.  He would ask about her day and nod attentively at the nonsensical chatter, encouraging her.

But first, Ezri soothed her by combing through Rali’s hair with her fingers.  Occasionally, Ezri would link Rali’s fingers through her own, guiding her to help improve her coordination.

“Anything to report?” Julian asked.

Kira shook her head.

“No, not afraid of anything today.”

“I think she takes after her Auntie Kira,” Ezri said.

Kira mirrored Ezri’s smile, proud and soft.

“What about you, Julian?   _Anything to report?_ ”

Upon realizing the room’s attention was all directed at Julian, Rali reached out and grasped for him with clumsy fingers.  Ezri shuffled enough to move her into Julian’s lap, instead, and he held her close against his side, allowing her to whisper to him while he responded to Kira.

“In another day or two, I’ll have it,” he said happily.  “Ro went to lock up, but I’d like to move the vault into our quarters, once the preliminary readings are processed.  Then we can secure it for transport, from there.”

“I’ll let her know,” Kira said, in a gentle voice.  “That’s great news.”

“It is, yes.  Thank you for all of your assistance and protection.”

“It’s not a problem.  You’ve been like family to me.”

Julian acknowledged this with a humble nod, before holding up one hand and turning his full attention to his daughter.  She was whispering away in a lyrical cadence, one she very well could have learned from Kira’s ritual prayers.

In the preceding year-and-a-half, Julian’s research into Trill separation - coupled with Ezri’s personal account of one symbiont’s struggle to acclimate - had met mixed reviews from the affected community.  Commissioner Diam used the eosin to speak to his symbiont, but did not find it to say anything beyond what he, the host, had already voiced. Unsure of what to do with this information, Diam sent the prints back to Julian, and their communications became less and less frequent.  

In the meantime, Julian and the Federation had cut ties with one another, allowing him to continue his research privately, with input from the Bajoran government.  Bajoran scientists - to his relief - were more interested in the possible oppression of an entire _species_ than in preserving outdated Federation contracts.  Trill, on the whole, were slow to trust outsiders, and despite being protected by the Federation for over a century, they continued keeping the details of Joining to themselves.  Even Ezri could not recall the specifics of her procedure, and Julian began wondering if the practice was more intentionally sinister than purely coincidental. Regardless, he did not consider the symbionts themselves to be members of the Federation, and continued his project under the protection this would offer, once it was proven.  And that, in turn, meant he would need to perform a successful Disjoining.

Ezri’s goal was to separate from Dax - whether temporarily or as long as they could endure, she had not yet worked out - but she knew this was the answer to the reluctance of the Federation and of the Symbiosis Commission.  To keep her rank and assignment safe in the interim, she distanced herself publicly from Julian’s research, and published all of her findings from Dax within the relatively forgiving scope of her zhian’tara summary; the Commission required a record of it anyway, and was willing to recognize that Ezri had genuinely taken input from separate entities in this context.

But, to themselves, Julian and Ezri considered Joining to be almost like a marriage, something _both_ parties should be prepared for; it could not be truly symbiotic unless the wishes of the symbiont were understood and accommodated prior to the procedure.  Ezri continued signing her name only on communications exchanged with Lenara and with Commissioner Diam, expanding on this theory of a marriage.

After a year of conversing with Diam clandestinely, he agreed to oversee the Separation surgery, and then to break the results publicly if they were successful.  Ezri and Julian were in the process of preparing for it, now, and were grateful for Kira’s support.

“You’re like family to us, as well,” Julian assured her.  “We’re all going to miss you.”

Kira leaned back in her seat and spoke in the calm, confident tone she had been practicing for the preceding year.

“We’ll see each other again,” she said, before teasingly adding, “I’ve got much more free time as a Vedek than I was expecting.”

“That’s because you give all of your busy-work to your first officer,” Julian said.  “In exchange for his childcare, of course.”

Kira smirked.

“Well, I’m _relieved_ that you haven’t been needed in the Infirmary every hour of the day,” she said.

“Oh, so am I,” Julian agreed.

It was true; he had not spent as much time performing critical triage as routine appointments, and enjoyed the challenges posed by the assignments Kira gave him, to keep him busy.

Ezri, meanwhile, had never been busier.  While Julian saw a dramatic decrease in traumatic injuries, Ezri picked up these same patients as they responded to their post-traumatic stresses.  The disorder manifested itself in dozens of different ways, and it had taken her most of these two years to work through her caseload of grieving families, Federation soldiers, abandoned Bajorans, and even some displaced Maquis.

Constable Ro was one of these, originally, but now she too worked directly for Kira, going so far as to convert to the Bajoran religion after witnessing Kira’s responses to visions.  The station itself was now primarily a holy-site - and, as Julian predicted - the Federation was withdrawing its involvement entirely.

So, they had all been occupied by work and research and family.  They made time to plan the next chapters of their lives, intending to separate peacefully - just as Dax had expressed its desire to do from Ezri - and once the initial trauma was processed, they would all carry on.

Julian’s plan was to take a post on Cardassia, at a Bajoran-run university, where his new rank and his medical background were sorely needed by the upcoming generation of Cardassian students.  He would live in the ancestral home with Elim and Kelas, and he would gradually integrate himself into their domestic structure. He was _thrilled_ to feel so welcome.

At the same time, Ezri would return to Trill.  She and Lenara established an agreement to get to know one another without the influence of their symbionts, something Julian would help them achieve, when they were ready.  Lenara was more hesitant than Ezri was - citing Kahn’s temperament as the main influence for this behavior. She remembered, prior to her Joining, how ambitious she had been in her courses, but also how reluctant she had been to fall in love.  Ezri assured her that a temporary Disjoining would solve these insecurities, and that she was looking forward to spending time together.

Rali would live with her mother on Trill.  

This was the decision that pained Julian the most, but he came to accept it with promises of frequent visits on every university holiday.  Rali did not feel greatly welcome on the station; she felt _alien_.  Even with her limited vocabulary, this much was clear to Julian, because it was the same way he remembered feeling as a young child.  She would sometimes scratch at her spots, and Julian imagined she was trying to rid herself of them. Especially the ones on her hand, which not even her mother shared with her.  Julian sometimes wore laser-painted ones, and Rali was given a Bajoran earring for her second birthday, but she still did not seem completely comfortable.

Once, Lenara had managed to send a video message, and Rali’s eyes positively _glowed_ when she saw her on the screen, another woman with spots and a soft, measured voice.  Rali talked about the encounter for weeks; Julian’s choice was made for him.

That night, after they had all returned to their quarters, he tucked Rali in to bed, setting aside her plush symbiont so she could have the pillow to herself.  Elim had made the toy for her, after Julian realized both how reluctant he was to share Kukulaka, and how curious Rali was about the symbiont she had essentially grown up with.  It played roles in her imaginative games, and through the plush version, Ezri ensured she had at least a basic understanding of the concept. Rali rarely left the house with it, but instead kept it where she knew it was safe.

Once Rali was sleeping, Julian met Ezri in the kitchen and sighed audibly, demonstrating his exhaustion.  This was the first truly _slow_ moment either of them had seen in weeks, _months_.

He helped her clear away their dishes from dinner, which she took as an unspoken cue to go and sit down on the couch, leaving him alone to finish with the reclamator.  He did not mind at all.

“And you’re just about done with - who was it? - the Betazoid.  Your last PTSD case?” he asked.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and leaned back heavily against the cushion.

“Commander Umeine, yes.  She’s going home to finish her sessions, now that she’s stable.  She wanted to talk about it, and no one on Betazed wanted to listen.  Just to… reach in and take the thoughts. Poor woman.”

“Mm,” Julian hummed in agreement.  “You’ve done amazingly.”

“Thanks.  I know Dax picked up a technique or two, anyway.”

“Of course it did.  It’s nothing if not a dedicated student.”

“Oh, a lifelong learner,” Ezri mumbled back, sleepily.  “I’ll… I wasn’t sure at first - you know that - but I think I _will_ miss it, after all this.”

“Oh, of course you will,” Julian echoed himself.  “But it’s only temporary. And I’m sure it’ll want to come back to you, at some point.  It just… how did you phrase it?”

Ezri chuckled to herself, recalling a recurring dream she had explained to Julian many times already.

“Well, I just got the pattern of words over and over.  It said it was grateful and ‘owed me time.’”

“But it doesn’t owe you _forever_.  I imagine nothing is permanent, when you’re a symbiont.”

She was quiet, but not withdrawn, so Julian continued along his train of thought.  He had learned that Elim was quiet to draw out secrets from those he spoke to, and Ezri did much the same thing with her patients, to help them.

“I think you’re going to make a massive, _important_ difference,” Julian said.  “I know there are other symbionts out there who could do with better preparation, and at least Commissioner Diam seems to like you.”

“I think that’s only because he seems to ‘ _like me_ ,’ and he doesn’t know we’re married,” Ezri said back, because she continued signing her messages to him as Counselor Dax’ to make him comfortable.

“Oh,” Julian shrugged.  “Well, he isn’t bad-looking, is he?”

“Nehhh,” Ezri said, indecisively, pressing at her temples as if Diam’s mental image alone gave her a headache.  “I didn’t really go for men at all, before I was Joined, you know that.”

“Thank you for the reminder,” Julian said, taking no offense.

Julian finished with the dishes and came to sit beside her, touching her knee to announce his presence; her eyes were still closed and obscured by her hand.

“But it’s great he’s agreed to watch the surgery.  That will give our research the traction it needs, once the Commission sees you walking around _Disjoined_ , able to transcribe Dax’s thoughts directly from introducing eosin to the front panel of the Vault…”

“You sound awfully confident.”

“Well, I-- I’ve run the simulation surgery about thirty times, and we--”

“No, I know you have.  I trust you; I wouldn’t trust anyone but you with this, Julian.”

He squeezed her leg once, then patted it in the same place, smiling even though she was not looking at him.

“I just don’t know if I’m looking forward to the presentation afterward,” Ezri went on.  “I mean, what confidence will I have without Dax there?”

“I’ll be there.  You’ll do fine,” Julian said.  “You have firsthand experience with the bias of the Commission, you’ll have memories from the time you were Joined, what more do you need?”

“I’m sure you’re right… I’m just tired right now,” Ezri said, unable to keep up with the speed of Julian’s speech.

She held up her hand and he touched it with his own, only for a fleeting moment.  

“Alright.  I was, er, going to call Elim and Kelas.  I’ll be quiet,” he promised; as she went to the bedroom, he remained where he was, retrieving his padd to begin the communique.  

***

On Cardassia, it was quite late at night when the communication came through.  Elim rolled over in bed and stretched his arm out toward the panel on his nightstand, eager to quiet the beeping.  Kelas was an equally light sleeper - it was common among Cardassians, and doubly so among those who began their work undercover - and they yawned and blinked at Elim once the computer went quiet.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?”

“I’m going to get dressed in something decent, first,” Elim replied.  “I’ve set it to forward to the main computer, he’ll wait.”

“Do you mean ‘decent’ as in ‘flattering?’” Kelas asked, playfully nudging his arm.

Caught out, Elim muttered a ‘yes’ and traipsed off to the wardrobe to find something more low-cut and brightly-colored than his modest, beige-linen pajamas.

Julian was mid-yawn, covering his mouth with his hand, when Elim made his way out to the main computer.  They exchanged quiet greetings, using their first names, and then Kelas came to join them.

“I might be longer on Trill than I first planned,” Julian apologized.

Elim dramatized his facial expression, so he would not need to speak for Julian’s benefit.

“These things cannot be planned down to each instant,” Kelas offered.  “You’ll be there as long as you need to be.”

“That and…” he managed a smile at Kelas, but it quickly dissolved, “...and Elim, I won’t be able to bring Rali with me, after all.  Not permanently, anyway. I just wanted to let you know, and I’m sorry to--”

“There’s no need to apologize, my dear,” Elim said.

“But you wanted to meet her… she’s heard all about you, and she _loves_ the little Dax you made for her, we just--”

“What I _want_ ,” Elim said slowly, “is for you to do what is best for your child.  I thought I had made that quite clear.”

“By your usual standard, yes,” Kelas added, prodding Elim’s arm before turning to Julian.  “Shall we hold a place for you at the Observance?”

“Oh… oh yes, please do.  That’s… month after next, isn’t it?”

“That’s right,” Elim said.

“Elim will have the garden flourishing, by then.”

Elim nodded and then rubbed at one eye.

“I can’t wait to see,” Julian said.  “Did I… I didn’t wake you, did I? I’m sorry, I always forget the days are different leng--”

“Don’t trouble yourself over it,” Kelas said.

“We’ll be in touch before then, though,” Julian replied.  “I’ll, er… I’ll call in the afternoon, next time, I _swear_.”

“I haven’t seen you this nervous since the first day we met, dear,” Elim observed.

Naturally, this only made Julian more flustered, and he hid his blushing behind his hand as he said his goodbyes.

“See you soon,” he said.


	17. 8.17 - Rearview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian finally leaves the station he has come to call 'home,' but there is no time for reflection. Ezri has problems getting into Trill space, while Cardassia is preparing for their celebration of family.

It was a surreal sight, that of the station in their rear-facing cameras.  Julian stared at it a moment too long, enough for Ezri to catch him. But he was apprehended only teasingly, as she took hold of his wrists and led him to the pilot’s seat.  

“It’s okay,” she told him, as he sat down.

“It is, it’s just strange.”

She stood behind him, pulling his shoulder into a lazy embrace.  Their belongings were stowed in the overhead compartments, their daughter was asleep in the temporary bunk, and all was well.  Julian nodded and switched off the rear monitors, focusing on the forward ones instead. Some of the controls were new to him, but the shuttle was all his to study.  

He was loaned a compact Bajoran craft, which Kira had christened the _Holana_ , adopting the tradition of Sisko’s runabouts being named after rivers.  Julian was learning to feel at home on it, knowing precisely how to complete scans and recordings, how to return his data to the station; it was not as though he would be leaving Deep Space Nine _completely_.  He reassured himself of this by sending on a test transmission, addressed directly to Kira, reading ‘thanks again, for everything.’

With its receipt confirmed, he sent another to Elim’s coordinates, letting him and Kelas know that his family was en route to the Trill homeworld.

“Do you need me to do anything, _Major_?” Ezri whispered, patting Julian’s arm to remind him she was still near.

“Hmm?  No, I think I’m all set with the autopilot.  Are you feeling alright? Any nausea?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

She slid into the passenger seat - really more of a bench, with a small raised armrest separating the pilot’s seat - and looked down at the control panel, voicing her inner resistance to touch the oval-shaped buttons.

“I like Bajoran design,” she mentioned.

Julian looked sideways at her.

“Like the earrings you got for Lenara?”

He gestured to one of the oval buttons, bronze and radially segmented with lines of purple.

“That must be it, yeah,” she said, embarrassed.  “I hope she likes them.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it; I think the two of you will get along just fine.”

When Ezri looked over her shoulder, she could see the Vault, sealed away in a stability field, ready to receive Dax and then, later, Kahn.  She nudged Julian’s shoulder again, playfully.

“I’m _really_ excited,” she told him.  “You just… You’ve been doing an amazing job with all of this, with Rali, with _everything_.  I couldn’t’ve done it without you.”

“That’s a good enough reason for _us_ to have Joined, isn’t it?” Julian said softly.

“Definitely.”

***

Elim and Kelas continued their preparations for the Observance, working long hours in the community garden before retiring indoors and caring for themselves with equal diligence.  It had taken time, but Elim learned to commit to his inward wellness with the same high standard he gave to his outward persona and appearance. When Kelas asked him about this, he said, in his own cyclical way, that he had learned all of this from Julian.

“We both retreated to persona, when sheer persistence would not satisfy,” Elim explained, dryly laughing once to himself.  “Why, I don’t believe either of us would have made it through that War if not for the dozens of different roles we were called upon to play.”

Kelas rolled their eyes and lovingly shoved Elim aside; he had occupied the shared sink in their bathroom for much too long, already.  

“Are you finished?  Do you need help with the calluses?” they asked, nodding pointedly to the pumice stone Elim held.

“No, thank you.  I was merely reflecting.”

“Mmm,” Kelas said.  “Sure. I believe you are _projecting_ forward, also.”

“Am I, Doctor?"

Kelas held onto his hand and kissed the back of it, where Elim had already shed away his old, rough scales, leaving behind soft, warm, half-formed ones.  It was best to complete one’s shed with the aid of pumice stones, and baring only a small bit of vulnerable skin at a time. His spouse’s kiss was the first thing Elim felt there, offering sweet relief in comparison to the grating he inflicted on himself, in the days prior.

“Suggesting Julian is playing a role in his marriage, or ours,” Kelas surmised.

“Well, he is doing that.  If you met him when I did, it would be clear as Hebetian mosaic glass.  He does not know what he wants from a family, so he plays an established human role.”

“I did not know you were a psychologist.”

“I took a single lesson from Counselor Dax,” Elim tutted.  “But I regret to say I know this as an interrogator, a... profiler of personality.”

“What a shame.”

“I don’t believe so.”

Kelas turned on the faucet, waiting until the water was warm to pat it over Elim’s aching hands.  He sighed as the tension was resolved, and he went on.

“He does not know what he wants, and neither do we.  We are not going to enter into any preconceived habits, or any historical standards.  There is not a role to play, not for him, or for myself.”

“I see,” Kelas said earnestly.  “I did not know how much you two had in common.”

“Neither did I, when I first met him,” Elim admitted, “or perhaps I would have kept my distance.”

“It’s good you didn’t, Elim,” Kelas assured.  “It’s brought us here. You must stop devaluing yourself.”

“A well-ingrained habit.”

“But you’re about to break it, you’re saying so yourself.  And we’ll help you. Wait until the Observance, and see what you can be to each other.”

***

As they neared the end of their flight, Rali awoke and called out for attention.  Ezri reached up to collect her from the upper bunk, lowering the protective wall and reassuring her that she was safe.  For a while, the two of them sat on the floor behind Julian’s bench-seat, with Ezri narrating a simplified account of the Vault, Rali squeezing her plush toy until activating the lightswitch inside of it, and Julian skimming through an operations manual for his new class of shuttle.  This was the best possible re-creation of the domesticity they had established at home on the station, and Julian felt a pang in his stomach at the thought of interrupting it, because it would likely never be duplicated again. Because of this, he waited until the last possible moment, keeping a watchful eye on their course and only speaking up quietly.

“Ezri… darling…” he mumbled, setting aside his padd.

While she shuffled to her feet and scooped up Rali, Julian tapped at the monitor.  She clambered into the seat beside him, with Rali giggling and reaching out to touch his face.

“This is it?” Ezri asked, following Julian’s gaze downward.

He felt he owed Rali a kiss on the cheek before answering, and making a grand gesture out to one side.

“This is it.  The edge of Trill space.”

They had gone over this plan for months, as a fantasy.  But it was about to be realized, now, not susceptible to computer-programmed scenarios.  Julian’s holoprogram of Trill, used mainly to help Rali acclimate, might not prove to be helpful at all.  He bit his lip, and Ezri looked at him.

“Well,” she said, “open up a channel, then, Major.  Get me Commissioner Diam, and then Lenara Kahn.”

“Yes, darling,” he said, pointedly ignoring the formality.  “Establishing contact with the Symbiosis Commission, via satellite… _now_.  Here, let me just--”

He finished the thought by taking over the task of holding Rali, and she excitedly met him with a whispered account of the time she had just spent with her mother, playing on the floor.  Julian smiled and held her close, and assured Ezri there was no need to second-guess herself now.

“How do I look?” Ezri asked, tugging at her uniform to straighten the shoulder pads.

“ _Perfect_ ,” he said.  “Diam will be impressed--”

“Oh, _stop_ that.”

But it was not Commissioner Diam who answered their call; it was an old woman with tightly-pulled white hair in a loosely-draped white shawl.  She might have looked angelic, if not for the sagging scowl on her face, and the harsh glare made by her narrowed eyes.

“Commissioner Kezil Ibic,” she introduced herself without wasting a moment of time.  “To whom am I speaking?”

Intentionally and with great care, Ezri maintained the formal tone she had rehearsed.  They were to establish peaceful contact, to peel away their secrets in the interest of trust.

“Counselor Ezri Tigan-Bashir, Joined to the symbiont Dax.”

“I see,” Ibic said, unimpressed.

“This is Doctor Bashir, with the Bajoran Militia,” Ezri went on, sweeping her hand to the side, “and our daughter… we’re here to meet with Commissioner Diam.  I have our clearance codes here, and--”

“Those will not be necessary, Counselor.”

Julian had to tip his head back, in order to look over the top of Rali’s head at Ezri.  She shared the same puzzled expression.

“Is he available?” Ezri asked.  “We set this up several weeks ago.”

“I’m afraid there was an accident; we are working to move Diam to a new host.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Julian offered.  “I have, er, maybe _too much_ experience with Trill symbionts, I’m a Federation-trained trauma surgeon, I--”

“Thank you, but the matter will be resolved shortly, my staffers assure me.  Your meeting, Counselor Dax,” Ibic went on, looking only at Ezri, now, “was to do with separating symbionts, anyway, wasn’t it?  If I read the notes correctly…”

“You did,” Julian grumbled, as his first automatic response to being ignored.

“The Commissioner and I were discussing our research into symbiont communication patterns.  We’ve established their sentience, a way to interpret their feelings, and - we believe - a way to separate them from their hosts if the decision is made mutually.”

“I’m sorry you believe any of that, Counselor,” Ibic sighed.  “I cannot allow that kind of thinking into Trill territory, not for a moment.  I am the presiding Head of the Symbiosis Commission, and I will not have my young, vulnerable Initiates subject to such radical hearsay.”

“It’s scientific evidence!” Ezri said, frustrated.

Ibic laced her fingers together at an agonizingly slow speed, before setting both hands on her desk.

“I admit, the Federation warned me about your invasive studies.  We will not be altering our practices; Diam was unable to confirm your hypothesis, as it stood, anyway.  There is nothing for you to try and prove here, Counselor.”

“That’s because he _only_ sees himself as Diam, just the symbiont, without--!”

“And I am sworn to protect our symbionts.”

“Well, you’re doing an _awful_ job.  When I got Dax, it was in shock, and you didn’t even _try_ to help the two of us in--”

“This is not a discussion, Counselor.  Your sentence is exile; _‘the two of you_ ’ - as you seem to believe - have breached protocol more times than I care to list.  And the decision, in case you have not realized, is mine, and mine _alone_.”

“You wanted to Dax, and I’ll give it to you,” Ezri begged.  “Let me show you _how_.”

“I want nothing to do with Dax.  Nothing at all. It is defective, at best, and weak enough to submit to the likes of you, at worst.”

Ibic ended the transmission before Julian or Ezri could curse at her, and they were left sighing at each other, huffing half-finished words and looking at their daughter apologetically, then hopelessly.

“What now,” Ezri said, flatly, tossing up her hands.  “That was it. That was two years of research, six months of planning. _What now, Julian_?”

“You aren’t safe here,” he came to his own separate realization, as he thought over the first things Ibic had said to them.  “I don’t think there _was_ an accident with Diam.”

Panting, Ezri looked at the screen in vain.  It was dark, obscured by static, and when she looked through the front window panels, all that was visible was the faint, distant outline of the Trill homeworld.  Julian cleared his throat to recall her attention.

“I think you’re right,” she said.

Automatically, Julian set them to return to the station.  He could always alter the course as they moved, but now his priority was to _begin_ moving, in the first place.  Trill was not safe, and shallow space was not comfortable, and they were very much alone.  There was a ripple as they shot into warp speed, and Rali cried out while Ezri hugged her.

“Where do we _go_?” Ezri said next, shouting over the engines.  

When they slowed down again, Julian realized she was crying, too.  

“Here, it’s alright.  We’ll go back toward DS9, we’ll work something out with the Bajoran government.  We know they support symbionts’ rights, and--”

“It’s not just that anymore, Julian,” Ezri was frantic, “what do I tell Lenara?  What if she’s in danger for associating with me? What if they try to take Kahn, like they took Diam?  Or Rali! What if--”

“Where’s all this coming from?  Wait right here, I’m getting my tricorder.”

“I’m _fine_ , I’m just furious.”

Holding Rali as he retrieved his tricorder, he stood to Ezri’s side and scanned her, pausing for longer than usual over her abdomen.

“Well, Dax isn’t being very cooperative.  I can see that.”

“Obviously it’s a _little_ upset that it can’t go home and be with the love of its lives, and it can’t help others in the same position because--”

“Ezri, you need to calm it down.”

“Take it _out_ ,” she begged, clawing one hand down her uniform zipper, to the place in her chest where Dax resided.  “Sedate it, do whatever it wants so it can rest--”

“No.  I’m not going to do any of that.”

“ _Julian_!”

“No.”

He set aside his tricorder and clambered back into the seat, scooting Rali along to rest between them, hoping her presence would serve to ground Ezri, if nothing else.  They sometimes did breathing exercises together, and other times, Ezri would help her to describe her emotions. Ezri seemed to understand the cue even if Dax did not, and she swallowed uncomfortably as she nodded, doing her best to give Julian a grateful look.

“If you aren’t safe here, neither is Dax,” he calmly explained.  “Taking it out _now_ puts it at higher risk.  And anyway, I don’t have all of the equipment on board to stabilize _you_ ; we need to get to a proper hospital site, for that.”

“The Commission’s Surgical Theater,” Ezri recalled.

“That’s right, or the Infirmary on DS9, or the hospital in Dahkur province, or…”

“Or the medical center in Cardassia City,” Ezri concluded, “where no one will be looking for me.”

***

Kelas paced in the garden, trimming the decorative installments while Elim handled the more critical food-providing ones.  They had placed metal baskets for the Observance, where families would be welcome to collect fruits and herbs - in place of the traditional incense, foregone due to the lingering dust and smoke in the air - to celebrate their closeness, their interdependency.  The Observance could last up to a week, or as long as it took for the heads of families to vocalize the traits they appreciated in their family members.

Privately, Elim considered the tradition as applicable to wedding vows he might, hypothetically, exchange with Julian.  He had read about the human custom and found it charming, if lacking in several critical hours of speeches; his vows to Kelas had taken a whole day of work.  As he trimmed one of the berry bushes, he thought about how he might condense his hopes and fears into only a few profound lines. Then Kelas touched his shoulder.

“Is it abnormal, Elim, for him _not_ to have called?” they asked.

“He is due this week,” Elim explained.  “It needn’t be today.”

“I suppose he could’ve gotten delayed on Trill,” Kelas reasoned.

“That was always a possibility.”

Elim offered Kelas one of the _saberries_ to taste, quirking a brow-ridge and asking for their opinion on whether or not it was ripe.

“Or I’ll need to get the soil reclamator over from the Bajoran unit, again,” Elim said lightly.  “My last yield tasted… _ashen_.”

As Kelas nodded and tucked the dark green berry into their mouth, Elim’s makeshift communicator beeped.  He had fashioned it from spare computer components, and he wore it inside his jacket, out of harm’s way; it responded to messages received on their household computer, and he had worn it constantly as they prepared for Julian’s imminent arrival.

“Julian?” Kelas garbled, their upper and lower lips tacked together by the _saberry_ ’s thick pulp.  

“It’s not a communique,” Elim explained, intently reading the series of blinking lights running across the communicator.  He held it up in his palm, and Kelas nearly slid it away as they had done with the fruit. “It’s a vicinity alert…”

Before Kelas could ask another question - they rushed to swallow the berry so they could speak clearly - there was a warp trail visible overhead, and a delayed _crack_ as the ship crossed the sound barrier.  

“What a nice surprise,” Elim said, watching the ship complete a circle, and hover down gently toward the open pasture.

The _Rekess_ ruins were surrounded by what was historically referred to as ‘decorative land.’  It grew flowers - not food - and it contained canals of non-potable water, wastefully tinted pink.  Now, with Elim growing all manner of things and repurposing the canals to provide irrigation, the open space could be used as a decent landing pad for… yes, Elim squinted… for a Bajoran runabout.  One with a crew that was either unwilling or unable to remain in orbit.

“A grand romantic gesture?” Kelas asked, tugging Elim’s sleeve, hauling him toward the landing site.

“That or an emergency,” said Eim.  “They’re one and the same, though, I suppose…”

“Maybe as far as the three of our misguided souls are concerned.”

“I thought I was the cynic.”

“And I was the radical.  Come _on_.”

Elim realized he did not have the same excuses Kelas did - the arthritic knees, the permanent hunch they inherited from their term at the labor camp - what Elim had, instead, was the strange sense he was about to lose everything.  He was about to take the safety and comfort he dug for in the ruins of Cardassia, squeeze it tight in his hand, and let the crackling dust of it fall over the cliffside. Whether he liked it - or would freely admit it - or not, he had adjusted to the routine of life on the station, life amongst Federation officers.  And as much as he wanted to see Julian in this moment, he knew it would not be in the same atmosphere in which they parted; they would need to acknowledge this, sooner or later. Elim never did enjoy sharing painful truths.

He allowed Kelas to lead him to the side of the shuttle, where the bay door was sliding open, offering forward a ramp.  From this stumbled Julian, with both arms full of medical equipment and silver suitcases, and then Ezri, holding their child.

There was some familiarity after all, Elim thought to himself with a sigh of relief.  The dust resurrected itself, embers into flame. His eyes widened and he extended an arm to Julian, offering without words to take on some of the load he carried.  When he glanced over his shoulder, he could see Kelas approaching Ezri, curiously studying the child. Elim knew they had considerable experience with hybrids - being the only Cardassian doctor available to deliver them while overseen by Guls who had been ‘recklessly sentimental’ -  but they had not met many Trills, nor many Humans.

More important than that, however, was how red Ezri’s face was.  Elim realized this with ease, convincing himself he had not read her with any intention of hostility.  It was obvious she had been crying, and so had the child. His thoughts spun to Julian, to Tain, to _no_ , he could not think along that line any further; Julian would never do anything to harm them, Elim knew that.

“Is something the matter?” Elim asked, trying to sound casual, unintrusive.

Rali had already taken to tapping Kelas’s ridges, and Ezri sniffled and shook her head, then nodded, then sighed loudly.

“You’ll like this one, Garak,” she muttered, “I’ve been _exiled_.”

“Oh, mercies,” he said.

“There’s something _seriously wrong_ with the Symbiosis Commission,” Julian explained.  “I hope you, er, don’t mind a couple of uninvited guests at your Observance?”

“What was the phrase, my dear?” Elim went on, “ _the more the merrier_?”

“That’s right,” Julian said.  “And if… um… I have to call Kira.  I’m guessing you have a secure channel set up here?”

“Naturally.”

“If there isn’t room for all three of us, I’m sure Kira can find us somewhere on the Bajoran unit property, and we’ll just… lay low for awhile.  I’m terribly sorry to ruin your plans.”

“You aren’t ruining anything, my dear,” Elim said, touching Julian’s arm with his free hand.  “I am relieved to find myself useful again, after all these years.”

Kelas moved to precede the rest of them, leading the way to the house and opening the door by providing the security scanner with their handprint.

“Come to think of it,” Elim went on, in a lighter tone, “I may as well have been bedridden since we last spoke.  I’ve done nothing noteworthy. And as for accommodation, I wouldn’t dream of sending you to the Bajoran unit; believe me, they hear from me enough as it is.  This is an _ancestral home_ , dear, meaning its designers spared no expense.”

“Because its actual builders were Bajorans,” Kelas added.

“I see,” Julian said numbly, following Elim up the marble staircase.

“We’ll look after _all_ of you,” Kelas said, reparatively.  “You are welcome here.”


	18. 8.18 - The Observance of Hearth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elim finds himself suddenly surrounded by his family - the individuals he has chosen to devote himself to - in time for the Cardassian Observance of Hearth.

The final days leading up to the Observance were tense, ready to snap the group into pieces before letting them all fall and begin to settle, together.  

Understandably, Ezri was in the most delicate state when she arrived on Cardassia.  She was perpetually tense, and her mind wavered at the slightest provocation.

The only things that calmed her, anymore, came from Julian and Rali, in alternating doses.  

Rali took her plush toy with her everywhere, clutching it protectively in both arms, occasionally nibbling the tapered end of the tail until Ezri tried to redirect her attention.  Affronted by the imagery, Ezri nudged Rali's arms apart, talking frantically about the end of Dax's legacy while Rali wailed to voice her disagreement.

Inevitably, the task of calming them both fell to Julian, who arrived to sit on the floor in front of them, balancing the plush symbiont in one hand while he adjusted the settings on the Vault with the other.  When he was finished for the day, he returned the toy to Rali and recited the results of his latest adjustments to Ezri.

"Less than a week," he said, holding her knee as he remained perched on the floor beside the Vault.  "Less than a week, and I'll have it adjusted to Cardassian gravity and atmospheric conditions. _The two of you_ can make it another week."

"Three," said Ezri, shifting Rali to her other arm.  "Four. Nine. A thousand."

"All of you, yes."

Kelas and Elim watched from behind the waist-high stone wall that separated the main dining area from the sunning lounge they stood in, together.  Clearing their throat quietly, Kelas leaned forward, giving a subtle gesture with one shoulder toward the family in their dining room. Already, they had watched Ezri try samples from a dozen different drinks, while Rali fussed and ignored her breakfast, and Julian worked to preserve every legacy Ezri was prepared to surrender.  Elim's eyes followed the curve indicated by Kelas's shoulder, and he sighed.

"Oh, I know the feeling well," he said.

It was the dawn of the Observance - celebrations would begin in only a few hours, and could last weeks afterward - and Ezri Dax was more inconsolable than ever.  

Elim went to sit down beside her, while Kelas followed slowly, allowing themself time to study the expressions of everyone else, as they passed.  As they often did, they selected a non-medicinal remedy, this time in the form of a tube of blue talc powder, and a bone-carved dowel wrapped in beaded cords, both of which they collected from a high cabinet in the dining area.

"I'm sorry, I'm nearly finished," Julian assured, wiping his brow and turning his attention back toward his project.  

Kelas quieted him, and lowered themself to kneel beside him, taking minimal assistance and plenty of time, joints creaking as they swayed and steadied themself.  

"I don't want to rush you," they insisted, "but I do want you to relax."

Elim marveled at the pair of them, Julian sitting still and giving his full attention while Kelas wove their way through tales of tradition and their memories of Observances past.  Ezri kept her hesitation confined to a single sniffle, and she set Rali down on the floor beside her father, her toy clutched tightly in hand. He and Ezri shared the professional need for silence; Elim took his own to reflect on this, while they watched Kelas touch Rali's arm in greeting, before wetting one finger over their tongue and then twisting open the canister of talc.  They dipped their finger inside.

"Observances of Hearth began to create a sense of community... a rare deviation from our forty-odd militaristic holidays of the same theme," Kelas explained, testing the strength of the blue color by drawing a little line over the back of their opposing wrist.  

Then, they wet their finger again, so powder would adhere to it more evenly.

"They were genuine, in their first few years," Kelas went on, "but then I... well, there was the Occupation, of course... and not many of us _had_ an upstanding family to spend more than a moment appreciating.  I could list everything my parents ever did for me in one sentence, and all of it would involve them turning their backs on me and leaving me _alone_."

"Right... right, yes, I can see that," Julian nodded along with them, looking unsure.

"It did not feel right to pursue any Observances, for quite some time.  They were an unspoken source of embarrassment between members of the New-council.  Weren't they, Elim?"

"Yes," Elim acknowledged them politely, and entertained himself by stirring one of Ezri's abandoned glasses of tea.

"But then we seemed to realize... ever so gradually... that we were building our own families, and our own legacies, just the way we wanted them to be."

Carefully, they twisted their nail in wide, swooping curves over the back of Julian's hand, holding it steady within their own.  In doing so, they drew a pattern of thick, blue spots on Julian's skin, while Rali watched, transfixed.

"We needed to remove the obstacle of feeling... _other_ ," Kelas said, with a warm sense of finality.

Again, Ezri sniffled, and Elim patiently met her eyes.

"You're putting _all_ of your lives into the most capable hands," he assured her.  "And you've come a remarkably long way, from the point at which I met you."

"That's true," Julian added, gently.  "Of all of us."

While Elim and Ezri returned to their prescribed silence, Kelas returned to their account of the holiday.  When they were finished with Julian's hands, they moved on to framing his face with spots, the same as Ezri and Rali and every other Trill humanoid.  While they worked, they asked if Julian would return the favor, and so he swiped his own index finger over his tongue, then over the mound of powder, and he dabbed this into Kelas's forehead crest until it was deeply pigmented and stiff from receiving so much attention.  They offered Rali her choice of the decorative cords, helping her slide it down off of the dowel and onto her wrist, where they tightened it with assistance from Julian.

"There we go," he said tenderly.  "See?"

With a bracelet on her wrist and one around the middle of the plush symbiont, Rali was satisfied, and clambered back up into her mother's lap.

Freed from this added responsibility, Kelas and Julian were finally able to stand, and they both moved to join the others around the dining table.  Ezri allowed Rali to squeeze and bite at her plush toy, and focused on stroking her hair to calm her, instead.

"Thank you," Ezri said.  "I see what you're trying to do, and I appreciate it, but... they're not willing to listen to me.  My family _there_ could be in danger, and I'm... stuck sitting here."

"Believe me, I sympathize," Elim told her.  "But, speaking from experience, even exile isn't permanent; it only seems that way."

One side of her mouth fought upward, out of its perpetual pout and into a half-convinced smile, but the expression only lasted a moment.  On top of the table, Julian extended his arms, offering her his hands, turning them over slowly, one at a time.

"Nothing is permanent," Julian recited, "except your spots and your symbiont."

"That's not even true, though," Ezri frowned.

" _Exactly_ ," Julian replied, lovingly brushing her cheek with the back of his hand, leaving behind a trace of blue.

Elim called this both 'smug' and 'romantic' in the same breath, and Ezri managed to give him a more complete smile.

"I see why you've enjoyed one another's company," Elim said, in conclusion.

"I always like a reminder," Ezri said.

"Oh, of course, Counselor.  So do I."

Overhearing this, Julian returned to 'remind' Elim with a kiss to the top of his head, ruffling the starched strands of hair and tickling his nose in the process.  He drew back and brushed his face with his sleeve while Elim turned to watch him, eyes wide and pleasantly surprised.

"Shall we?" Julian asked, as he paced toward the staircase.

Outside, the sun was nearing the center of the sky above them, cutting through a gap in the clouds of smoke that had clogged the atmosphere for years.  Elim felt a sense of accomplishment, amplified by the sunlight that graced his back.

He led their little group into the garden, where branches and pillars were decorated with sprigs of herbs and empty baskets.  Elim encouraged the surrounding families to begin their celebrations, after a brief and quiet speech about the Observance.

"We are here to recognize our families," he said, "in whatever form they may come.  Please, share in our yield of crops and make yourselves feel at home. Rekess was razed for us to grow from, stronger than our ancestors.  Thank you."

When he was finished, he turned aside to Julian, who was hesitantly reaching to take hold of his arm.

"I think that's the shortest speech you've ever given," Julian observed, playfully.

Elim pressed his forehead softly against Julian's, feeling the warmth against his forehead crest.  It was even better than the sunlight.

"My _speech_ has not even begun," he whispered.

"Oh?"

"I am saving that for sun-fall, my dear," Elim assured, giving Julian a prim pat on the chest before leading him aside.  "There are some other guests in attendance I would like to introduce you to, first."

Ezri and Rali remained behind with Kelas, who was capable and content to make introductions when the two of them had adjusted.  Rali, especially, took time to understand her surroundings, and she peered over Ezri's shoulder to take in the unique features of each Cardassian they passed.

Meanwhile, Elim introduced Julian to some of his future students.  As families from the neighboring region were all in attendance, Elim was able to point out the young adults who were testing to advance into a medical career, as well as the teachers who had brought them that far already.

"Our vocations were, for a time, predetermined," Elim explained.

Natima Lang stood beside him, with her partner Dedia chewing at the end of a grain-stalk.

"We like to think this is the first generation to have a say in their own futures, shaping their own community," Natima said.  "The Kendra Institute personifies that."

When Julian looked to Elim for reassurance - as he often did when he felt compelled to speak in Cardassi to mixed company - his eyes were glowing with unrealized potential.

"Oh, that's... vital," he said, in an over-practiced accent.  "I support that... as all."

"Completely," Elim gently corrected his conjugation, while Dedia and Natima remarked with approval at Julian's attempts.  "The students named it - you'll be pleased to know - and they are very much looking forward to continuing their education."

"Teaching medicine in a foreign language," Dedia praised, in her own semi-sarcastic way, "that's very bold of you, Doctor.  Is every human like that?"

Elim brushed Julian's cheek, and quieted him - in Standard - before he could make any embarrassing mention of his childhood.

"We've all been altered by our parents, dear," Elim said, while the women looked away, as not to intrude.  "It doesn't matter, here; don't trouble yourself over it."

Then, in Cardassi, Elim added, 'no, none are like my Julian,' while Julian's cheeks flushed with red.

"You have stranger alien tastes than Natima," Dedia said, with the slightest hint of fondness; Natima immediately nudged her middle, and let Elim and Julian continue on their way.

After Elim pointed out the entire incoming class - fourteen students in all - he caught sight of Kelas's unmistakable hair, shiny and gray and crowned with a beaded plait.  He led Julian in their direction, where they were sitting with Ezri and Rali in the shade of a heavily-laden _saberry_ shrub.  Rali was force-feeding her plush one of the berries, while Ezri attentively followed the trail of sticky green with the pad of her thumb, trying to keep the toy as clean as possible.  

Despite his best efforts, Elim continued to hold the attention of most of the gathered group.  Many of them regarded his exotic family from a respectful distance - most were unfamiliar with Humans and with Trill, and could only base their impressions of warm-blooded aliens on Bajorans.  In traditional Cardassian paranoia, Elim vocalized that he did not appreciate being watched from a distance - nor did he particularly like being surrounded within a crowd - and the spectators apologized and returned to the areas of the garden they had temporarily staked out as their own.

"I hope you enjoy being the center of attention," Kelas said quietly to Julian.  

"Does he ever," Elim interjected.  "Bonding to two radicals, having a healthy and promising young family, teaching the subject of his expertise, walking around in a Bajoran uniform without a _d'ja'pagh_."

"I'm off today," Julian insisted, tugging at his choice of civilian tunic.

"That's hardly any better," Elim teased, gently swatting Julian's hand away from the glittery purple fabric.

"I thought they were all here to see _you_ ," Julian said back.

"We'll have to see what happens, as the days pass."

Incredulous, Julian tipped his head to one side.

"I thought you were giving a speech _tonight_."

Clicking his tongue, Elim answered with a disarming smile.

"I didn't specify _which_ sun-fall," he said.

"He needs to get his thoughts in order," Kelas explained.

"Oh, sure," Julian said.  "It's been ten years, what's another few weeks?"

Elim kissed him and then sat down with him alongside the shrub, and they celebrated the first night of their Observance in near-silence.  As Kelas said, he was preparing the details of his speech; it was more important to him now than ever that he spoke exclusively in truth. While one could generally expect a true statement to occur naturally and without preparation, Elim had practiced the opposite all his life, and had to make a conscious effort to break the habit.  He relied on Ezri as his co-conspirator, in this noble endeavor.

At the end of the evening, when Julian went inside to put Rali to bed, she remained up with Elim, listening to his outlines and helping to expand and contract them as necessary.  Several curious guests returned to watch them, and Ezri tried to make the lesson more broadly applicable.

"Well, I know you have a heart," she said gently.  "We always hear that Cardassians are obsessive about their mental conditioning, but I _know_ there's passion behind that.  You... need to mix the two of them.  Instead of playing for a particular response from whoever you're talking to, try to get that same feeling out of yourself.  Temper your memories with the underlying passion, that's what _makes_ the words _true_."

Elim nodded, and before he could reach to touch the tear forming in the corner of his eye - simply to confirm it was _real_ \- Kelas beat him to it, brushing their finger carefully over the affected place.  Disguising the motion, they used their finger to press into Elim's forehead ridge, lightening the blue powder he had already applied there.  Regardless, Ezri saw, and she understood.

"It doesn’t need to be complicated, Garak," she said, comfortably.  "Just tell him what _you_ want him to hear."

He patted Kelas's knee as he nodded, showing his appreciation.  But Julian was not granted a lengthy speech that evening, nor the one following.

They camped beneath the stars together for a week, with Julian taking occasional breaks to make adjustments to the Vault's atmospheric conditions.  Otherwise, their family remained together and largely quiet, with Elim taking advantage of Julian's absences to talk to Ezri. She spoke about Dax the same way the other gathered Cardassians spoke about their ancestors.  Some recitations were given loudly enough for them to listen to, while other speakers specifically encouraged audience participation. They collected berries and herbs and _listened_ , honing the skill that accompanied their legendary ability to _speak -_ the half of it which was often forgotten.  Elim could not believe he used to prefer it this way, without recognizing the significance.  

Ezri took a turn to speak about Dax, illustrating the point she made for Elim.  She talked about its memories, how these and her own feelings reciprocally affected one another, how she was forever changed by her association with it.  

“I wasn’t prepared for any of this,” she said, “all the… baggage that came with it, all the feelings I couldn’t explain.  But that’s what a healthy relationship is about - figuring those things out together.”

While Elim thought purely of Julian, who was inside working tirelessly to improve the conditions of the symbiosis vault, Ezri grinned up at him from her seat.  

“I think you’re ready to try that,” she said.  “I _know_ Julian is.”

At this, Kelas was inspired to take their turn.  Gently, they nudged Rali over to sit with her mother, so they could stand without complication.  

“I happen to know Elim is, as well,” they said, at a respectful volume.  “The fear of intimacy passes, when it is entered into with someone who inspires your bravery.”

Ezri nodded and shared a knowing look with Elim, while Kelas went on to the point of embarrassing him, listing all of the good traits he had gained and uncovered within himself over the years.

“You have sought to bring relief to those around you, Elim,” they said, at last.  “That is a passion all of us here share.”

Elim thanked them for their contributions, and went into the house alone.  At last, he gathered Julian to sit for his recitation, hauling him away from the Vault by one arm, insisting he come outside to relax with the family.  Ezri's surgery was scheduled for the following morning, and most of the strangers had departed, returning to their own homes. Elim enjoyed the privacy, and hoped he would not let Julian down.

Julian sat still, focused upward on Elim as he paced.  The sky was dark and cloudy overhead, and the garden had been stripped of all but its inedible leaves.  Julian had been granted the additional days off duty in preparation for the procedure, and yawned into the sleeve of the gray coat he was wearing.  

He maintained his smile, tired and charming, and waited for Elim to speak.

"Kelas said you wanted these to be like wedding vows," Julian said, slyly.  "Go ahead, I'm sure they're better than mine were."

Ezri laughed, but then pointedly reminded Julian they were 'genuine,' while giving Elim an encouraging nudge.

"I cherish you," Elim said.  "And I regret every day I chose to spend away from you, every moment I--"

Julian stood, cupped Elim's face delicately in his hands, and kissed him with a sense of tenderness neither of them had known in years.

"So do I," Julian said, pressing together their foreheads.  "All of it. This is my home, and _you_ are my family."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I promise more Trill focused components to this epic in the future ;)
> 
> First, though, I'm going to print and distribute a few copies of this - if you might want one please let me know. 
> 
> This has been amazingly fun to write, my heart is warmed by all these dorky aliens. Carry on.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my work, feel free to buy me a coffee :)
> 
> ko-fi.com/garakinglasses

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [In Close Proximity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17040434) by [KJGooding](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KJGooding/pseuds/KJGooding)




End file.
